Two Halves to a Hole
by The Sneeze
Summary: You've never seen Fred Weasley like this. After the trio begin to work at the Wheeze, they start to notice a change in the twin; a dangerous change that leaves George in the dust. Will the truth shock them into turning on Fred, or can they help? FINISHED.
1. My Better Half

Foreword: I'll keep this short. This is the first in a series I'm writing based on an image that implanted itself in my brain and has not gone away. It's based in current Harry Potter time, and in the "possible reality" section of HP fan fiction (har har) dealing with the characters Fred and George Weasley. It explores this bond, which seems to be the most cement thing in the entire series, without excluding any of the other characters. In fact, they're essential. But what happens if that bond is weakened? What about broken? Certain voices can be very convincing when they want something…Maybe the most certain of people can be most certainly changed for the worse. Make sure to read to the end of this starter episode to get a taste of what's cooking.

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"I think we've outgrown our full time education…" murmured Harry, solemnly repeating Fred Weasley's infamous last words before blasting out of Hogwarts for the last time, leaving only Umbridge's futile screams in the twin's wake.

"Yea…not bad," agreed Ron, who stood at Harry's side, shading his eyes to get a better view of the building.

It was Hermione who interrupted their reverie: "Please. No matter how well their business is doing, Fred and George are ridiculous not to finish their education. Don't go giving them so much credit."

Ron exchanged a well-weathered 'she's at it again' look with Harry. "C'mon Hermione. They're making bloody oodles of galleons out here. Better'an being cooped up in classrooms all year long. I know_ I_ would much rather be--"

"Come off it, Ron!" interrupted Hermione. "What happens if this little investment burns down? Where will your brothers be then? Up the creek without a paddle is where. They won't get employed by anyone without a proper learning."

Ron snorted incredulously. 'Burns down? In Diagon Ally? You think like _such_ a muggle sometimes, 'Mione."

Harry tuned out the familiar sounds of his two best friends bickering and turned back to examine the shop. He couldn't help but be impressed. An ultraviolet light encased the words "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes", and two giant eye balls were perched over the brightly-colored doorway, lolling about like those of a manic. In matching display cases, Weasley's Wildfire Wiz-Bangs continually looped and exploded in bouts of angry sparks. He smiled. No matter how Hermione chastised him, Harry was truly glad for the twin's success. It even made him feel a little proud, to see how his galleons had granted at least someone's wishes.

And as usual, the twin's antics helped put off his more serious feelings of pain, anger, and sadness. Their easy smiles and mischief allowed him to dim the ache in his heart left by Sirius's death, if only for a little while. Harry pushed back those impending emotions, and pushed open the door.

_Wow_. The vast arrays of Skiving Snackboxes, Deflaguation Deluxes, and Portable Swamp Kits that densely lined the walls were eye-catching to say the least. Harry could also see the colorful packaging of many newly-designed trick or treats as well, waiting to be ripped open and abused. The sheer number of bewitched hoaxes and crafty toys was beautiful enough to take his breath away. Several young wizards in the far corner glanced back at Harry, and quickly went back to their shopping. Upon regaining his senses, he noted how much the neurotic lay-out of the store resembled its owners. He absolutely _loved_ it.

"Can I help you find anything?"

Harry looked for the owner of the voice, and was surprised to see that standing behind the desk was not one of the twins, but instead a girl who wore a short yellow raincoat and tie as if it were a suit. She smiled brightly.

"Welcome to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."

"Oh!" piped Ron in a surprised tone. Apparently he and Hermione had ceased their arguing just long enough to follow their friends into the shop. The cashier flashed her teeth once more for the two of them and flipped back her braids.

"What? They're not even here?" Hermione asked, a hint of impatience seeping into her voice.

The counter girl looked confused and asked again if she could be of assistance.

"Er…my brothers. I think they own this shop..?" flustered Ron, clearly unnerved to speak to any strange girl, nonetheless a pretty one.

She cocked her head at the trio, and then looked back to Ron. Finally… "OH! I should have realized—you're a Weasley too, aren't you?" Are you George's little brother? You are, aren't you? 'Jon,' isn't it?"

"Ron," blushed the red head in question. George's little brother? What happened to Fred? wondered Harry.

"So, are Fred and George here or not?" asked Hermione.

"They sure are! Let me call them to the front for you," the girl chirped. She flipped a lid on her desk, and jabbed a button. Instantly, the air was filled with a supped up version of the song, "Witchy Woman." God, it was awful. This was supposed to alert the twins?

Ron took advantage of the deafening musak to lean over and whisper loudly to Hermione, "What's got your pointy hat in a twist?"

Hermione huffed back immediately: "Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt you two ogling the goulashes off that girl. Don't think I won't ask your brothers what kind of business their trying to run with their hired help wearing a 'skirt' that short. "

Thank Goodness the twins appeared before Ron could respond with more then choking and a reddening of ears.

"Well, well, well…if it isn't The Boy Who Lived, The Girl Who Studied, and Widdle Weasley Junior." Fred's cheerful greeting met their ears as he and George entered through a back door, waving their arms empathically as if greeting the whole store.

George grabbed Ron in an over-the-top embrace as Fred snagged Harry and Hermione in both arms and clucked at them like a mother hen. The twins were wearing the same ultra-green dragon skin jackets they had the last time Harry had seen them, along with a T-shirt boldly pronouncing their store's name.

"I'm so happy I could just snog you all," proclaimed George.

"Very true, George. So, to what do we owe this pleasure, my little wizardlings?" Fred asked, and smiled down at Hermione.

Hermione, beside herself, smiled back up at the red-haired twin. Wait…

"Fred! What _happened_ to your hair?" she gasped.

Harry twisted in Fred's grasp to get a better look. Sure enough, hi-energy streaks of blue now ran through the normally auburn locks.

"Yea, yea…" Fred answered, running his hand through it self-consciously.

"Moms gonna absolutely kill you when she sees that mess, mate," laughed Ron.

George laughed as well. "She's just gonna have to kill us then. Were still not wealthy enough to hire a bloke every time we need an experiment done. For this one, we were up until three in the morning working on it—"

"--four," interrupted Fred.

"Right, four. 'An who are we gonna find to take a dose at a time like that? So Fred bravely volunteered."

"What was it supposed to be for, anyway?" asked Hermione.

"A 'Fickle Flu.' It's supposed to turn you real pale and your tongue spotty so's to make you look real ill so you can get outta exams and the like. It worked, but it also did this," said Fred, pointing to his hair.

"Too little aim, too much pigment," murmured George in agreement.

Ron was clearly enjoying his brother's backfire. "Will it ever be normal again?"

"Of course, Ronny boy. Don't give your hopes up—it's a temporary spell. Should be back to normal in a few days," answered Fred casually.

"That's what you said two weeks ago," laughed George.

The five friends continued to visit; mostly poking fun and generally goofing off. They avoided all topics that were still to tender to talk about quite yet. So, nothing about Sirius, Percy, or the Order--just simple small talk. Harry explained how he had asked—no, told-the Dursleys he'd be visiting Diagon Ally early this summer with his friends. It was nice for Harry to be able to return to the ally without the hustle and bustle of back-to-school shoppers. The atmosphere was buzzed, but relaxed. Hermione took credit for the idea of meeting for lunch and a visit. "There is no reason we have to wait all summer to see each other, especially at this age," she had written Harry and Ron earlier.

Eventually, even the girl behind the counter, introduced only as Molly, had come over to join the conversation. She stood beaming with one hand tightly clasped to George's. Harry couldn't tell if this made Hermione more or less ticked about the cashier's appearance.

Of course, as of yet, Hermione hadn't voiced up any opinions on the matter, and was actually still standing under the arm of Fred, who didn't seem to mind her being his arm rest in the least. Harry watched Ron's face twitch whenever Fred squeezed Hermione's shoulders as he laughed, but Harry brushed it off. It was now obvious to Harry that his best friend seemed to care a little more about Hermione then he let on—but that was much too dramatic for Harry to focus on at the moment. His plate was currently full, and he'd decided to cross that bridge when he came to it. Watching Ron's mouth twitch again, Harry prayed that this certain bridge was _far _off in the future.

Eventually Molly brought them all butterbeers and sweets between her checking out customers. She seemed rather busy in her duties—Harry noticed the heavy flow of traffic in and out of the store. So after about a half-hour of chit chat, Harry brought it up: "Geez. Business for you guys really is booming. Do you have anyone besides Molly working here?"

George shook his head. "Nah. We need to find some more hands soon though, especially what with the heavy lifting. But we haven't had time for interviews, as you can see. It's been wild around here."

Harry smiled.

"What is it, mate?" asked Fred.

"I don't know about Ron or Hermione, but I'd be more then willing to put in couple days a week. You know, if you need an extra pair of hands."

There was a silence as everyone turned to stare at Harry. Then, as if on cue, everyone started talking at once:

"That's bloody brilliant!"

"No way your mum would let you, Ron."

"The Dursleys would probably dance with joy to get me out of the house—"

"She would too."

"—it's much too rude to ask of such a thing from the twins, Harry."

"I wouldn't want pay or anything—just to get away from the Dursleys…"

"Don't be daft, Harry. We couldn't not pay anyone, _especially_ you."

"Really. What would Dumbledore say about this madness?"

"He'd probably say, 'Well done!' Harry'd still be living at home, so he'd still be protected—that's why it's so brilliant."

"You'd have to learn how to work everything in the shop, you know…"

"_We would_!"

"I dunno, Ron…you seem kinda puny to me…"

"Shuttup Fred! I'm stronger an' you."

"I think it's a fine idea."

The last words came from George. He glanced at his twin hurriedly. "I mean, if Fred agrees, it would save us a lot of time an' effort." Fred seemed deep in concentration, never taking his eyes off George; Harry knew that with a bond like theirs, a mute conversation was now flowing between them.

Then Fred shrugged. "It seems pretty daft not to, considering your willing and we need the help." George relaxed then, grinning at the trio.

"Yes!" cried Harry, overjoyed. A busy summer surrounded by his friends was just the thing to keep his mind off his woes.

Hermione tried not to look the faintest bit pleased. "Well, if we are going to participate in this silliness, Dumbledore will have to give you the "ok", Harry, as well the Dursleys. Ron, your mother and father will be harder to convince…"

"We, Hermione?" scoffed Ron, probably annoyed how often his parents kept being brought up. "What happened to--"

"Be quite Ron," interrupted Hermione, smiling a little bit now.

Fred clanked butterbeers with George and tipped the remnants into his mouth. "Okay then. You kids better get started with that if you want to be of any help to us before the summers out."

And they did. Harry quickly wrote a pleading note to Dumbledore, who agreed that Diagon Ally was a fairly safe haven for Harry, on the terms Harry was never to stray from the ally, and several protective spells were to be cast on store for added protection. Harry agreed quickly, realizing Dumbledore was so quick to concede because he still felt a little guilty for the previous year.

Harry felt his own guilt for not yet telling the Dursleys that his possibly homicidal godfather had been killed. However, his wish to floo from their fireplace to work was granted a whole lot easier because of it. He'd tell them soon enough…

Hermione's parents were as welcome to the idea as every other unknown magical occurrence in their daughter's life; Ron's mum, as predicted, was the hardest to convince. Ron had to swear repeatedly on his death bed that he would not follow in his older brother's footsteps, and would indeed finish Hogwarts (the words "with flying colors" and "Head Boy" were thrown around).

After the initial negotiations were completed, Molly spent time tutoring all three of them individually on the mechanics of running the store. Ron and Harry would be working three days a week, emptying boxes and stacking shelves, while Hermione worked two, filling out orders and organizing paperwork. By the time the whole process was up and running, the blue was finally fading from Fred's hair, and everyone was on the same page.

Especially after the first week of bumbling about, Harry, Hermione, and Ron all knew the way of things. Harry greatly valued the time he was able to spend with his friends, and even enjoyed the physical labor aspect. He felt strong and with purpose; a feeling that kept him motivated day after day. Even Hermione seemed to be enthralled with her work; she was a wiz at the pushing papers, and seemed confident in her job. This left Molly behind the counter, and the twins doing what they wanted to be doing the most: inventing.

That's when it started.

George woke up. His eyes flicked open and he lay there, breathing into his sheets in a steady rhythm. Something was very wrong. Feeling it in his gut, he knew only this, so he tried to remain calm. At least he was in the right place: his bed in his bedroom adjoined to his brother's. These bedrooms were located above The Wheeze in a small but comfortable apartment overlooking Diagon Ally. George rolled over onto his side. Through the darkness, he could see Fred's four-poster, the heavy drapes hiding his twin's sleeping form.

The high windows reflected the moonbeams in pools of light against the curtains. It was a serene scene, but still the unease ached in George's chest. Slowly lowering his feet to the floor, George felt the smooth wood greet him with a familiar groan. Pushing himself off the bed, George knew that he wanted to awaken his twin. If any sense of dread had befallen George, then it was likely his brother was feeling the exact same. In fact, it was surprising that Fred was not already awake, pulling back the curtains and smiling to relieve George's nervousness.

George stumbled across his room and into Fred's, half asleep but waking a little more with each step. The silence was thickening around him—not just the muted night sky, but an utter lack noise or emotion. George had never liked the feeling of being alone; it was highly unnatural. But the wretched pain in his chest remained as he reached for the curtains. Something was very, very wrong with Fred if he had not woken up by now. He grabbed at the thick fabric desperately. Oh God. George almost cried out as he ripped back the curtains, already knowing that the bed would be as empty as this room. As this apartment. As this building. As this street.

He was very much alone.


	2. My Worser Half

The next morning, Harry made his way down Diagon Ally with his breakfast in a hand: cuppa and a warm roll from the Leaky Cauldron. This luxury was due to his very first paycheck: something the Dursleys could not stop him from enjoying on his days away from Pivot Drive. Even though his vault at Gringotts was never short on galleons, something felt good about earning and using his own knuts and sickles. Harry quickly reached Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and paused, balancing his cup and stuffing the roll into his mouth while trying to fish out the keys from his pocket. No sooner then he'd got the key between his thumb and forefinger, the front door swung open. Harry looked up, surprised to see Hermione's staring at him from the doorway. She looked tense.

"What are you doing here, 'Mione?' Harry tried to look unconcerned. _But it's a Tuesday. Nobody should be here for another hour…I'm the first to open shop today, aren't I?_

Hermione didn't answer; instead, she pushed the door back, revealing the inside of the store. George was perched atop the counter.

"Come on in, Harry. We're not going to open up for a little while," said George. Harry stepped inside, looking from his best friend to the red head. Harry remained silent as he tried to assess the situation. Obviously, something was wrong—the main something being the sullen expression on George's face. Nothing had ever looked more unnatural. But then it dawned on Harry…

"Um…where's Fred?" He asked. Harry rarely-- if _ever-- _saw one twin without the other close behind. His scar prickled when he saw the reaction the question immediately evoked on George's face. The twin looked as if he had been slapped, drew in his legs, and looked away.

_Okay then…_Harry turned to Hermione, who was wearing an identical expression.

"Who died?" he mouthed at her. She looked like she wanted to thwack him, but at that moment Ron fell into the room.

"Okay, then—I've just talked to mum, and she's writing Dumbledore immediately. Maybe he's heard something—she sounded pretty frantic, but you know mum…looks as if she's going to have the whole Order out on patrol whether they like it or—Oh! Heya Harry," Ron panted, greeting his friend with a head nod. "I guess you've heard."

"No, actually, I haven't." Harry looked towards Hermione and George, a little annoyance creeping into his voice.

George slipped off the counter, and walked off towards the back of the store. Harry couldn't stand it anymore.

"Can someone _please_ tell me what's going on?" he asked.

"Fred's gone missing, Harry." answered Ron, sitting down to take a breather.

"Come again?"

"It's true," answered Hermione. "He disappeared last night. George woke up and Fred wasn't there." Harry considered this for a moment.

"The twins have done stranger things, you know," he said finally.

"Right, Harry--the twins have done stranger things. But _together--_never by themselves. George doesn't have a clue where Fred could be". Hermione lowered her voice so just Ron and Harry could hear her: "To be honest, I don't think George is handling this very well. Its hard for us to imagine what is would be like without a twin we don't have—"

"--I do admit this is a bit queer for Fred, but it's not beyond him to stage something like this," interrupted Ron. "That dunderhead's always been the ringleader of the two anyway." Hermione gave him a look. "Look, I'm just saying I know my brother. Lets not get too carried away until we have more to go on."

Harry was still a little stunned. _No Fred? What could have happened to him? Is it possible he's really up to something? _ It was too hard to imagine a situation that Fred hadn't willed into existence. He and George were always in such control.

"No, Ron, I am most certainly _not_ saying that Voldemort's winged monkeys swept down and devoured Fred Weasley! I'm just saying that we have to consider all the possibilities…it's a dangerous time to be working with Dumbledore…what? I said "winged monkeys"…oh, just… never mind," Hermione huffed, ending an argument Ron and her had been having for the past five minutes.

She had finally decided to open the store since George had not reappeared from the depths of the shop, and she was currently checking out a customer.

Harry too had started his daily duties, and was in the middle of unpacking a new order of Ton-Tongue Toffees when he first noticed a copy of the Daily Prophet lying on the table. He supposed someone had brought it in with them early this morning, and had forgotten all about it. Finishing with the last toffee, Harry picked up the newspaper and read the most prominent headline. _For the love of…_

"Hermione! Ron!" Harry yelled, interrupting their newly fueled argument. They both glanced up at him as he scanned the Prophet.

"Oh, bloody hell. What is it now?" Ron asked. Harry threw down the paper angrily.

"Lucius Malfoy has escaped from Azkaban."

"_Already_?" Ron groaned.

Hermione handed a customer their receipt and came around to join the boys.

"Don't be surprised you two. Even Draco knew his dad would be out in a matter of time."

"God, that little _git__._He's going to be blooming unbearable," said Ron.

'That's not what we should be worrying about," Hermione chastised, more wearily then usual. "It's going to be a very, very dangerous year for everyone, _especially _for us and the rest of the Order. Voldemort is more powerful then he's been in years, and now he's seen most of the Order in person. It should have been obvious his next step was to start rounding up his minions." She stopped. "I just hope…"

Harry did his best impression of a smile, trying to comfort her. "I'm sure Fred is safe, Hermione. I seriously doubt this is connected to him."

Ron nodded strongly in agreement. "Besides, if my brother _did_ run into Lucius Malfoy, he'd shove a Canary Cream right up his arse and watch him sprout feathers like a bloody Rooster."

Hermione and Harry both  stared at Ron before bursting out into much-needed laughter over the mental image.

_He's probably right, _thought Hermione. _Fred can take care of himself._

__

Of course, George was a different twin all together. Over the next few days he regained his friendly composure towards the trio, but he still kept mostly to himself. It was just too strange to act normally when his brother-_his other half-_wasn't right beside him at all times. It wasn't in George's nature to be morbid or non-talkative, but it was just _unreal_ to be happy without Fred.

The worst was at night when George was alone in the flat. The silence was absolutely unbearable. The only reason he didn't return to The Burrow was because of Hermione, Harry, and Ron. They kept thinking positive, and this was enough to sustain George. _And Fred would be so disappointed if he knew how keen I was to run crying home to mum and dad. _ 

He couldn't bring himself to continue any of their inventions or the shop and spent most of his time communicating with the Order. The Order had kept their eyes (all real and even some magically inclined) peeled, but not even a drop of news had leaked out.

Molly, his girlfriend, had done her best to keep him active and cheery, staying after work for several hours and keeping him company. It was much appreciated by George, but it still a little weary. It took so much effort to speak to someone who didn't know your every feeling, your very next thought. But it was all he had, and he was grateful.

Five nights after the one Fred disappeared, Molly had come over to the flat, bringing fish and chips along with some butterbeer. They had finished dinner and sat at the small dining table, talking.

Molly reached across the table and took George's hands in her own, repeating her favorite saying these days: "You know, you don't _have _to be cheerful all the time, George. You can be honest. I'll understand." George felt himself smile back and squeezed her hands.

"Hey…Oh—sorry," said Fred, leaning in the kitchen doorway. "Didn't mean to interrupt." He pushed himself away from the wall and started away from the kitchen.

George gaped. He stared at Molly who stared back with an identical look of shock on her face. The he was out of his seat before Fred could pass under the doorway.

"_FRED!" _George yelled, grabbing his twin by the arm. This familiar feeling and George became even more delirious. _This is actually real. _Fred looked back with a sleepy look on his face. "What is it? I'm tired and I've got to use the loo."

George just stared. Behind him, he heard Molly letting herself out. She was a very sensible raincoat-wearing girl. He had to give her that.

"Fred—you've been gone for an entire week! I've been shitting knickers not knowing where you'd gone! Are you alright? What happened to you? Everything George was saying came out as a yell, but he didn't care.

Fred shook off his brother's grasp. "Budge up, George. I've just been out."

"What? In the middle of the night? That's not good enough! Everyone's been worried bloody ill over you! I can't believe you didn't tell me--!"

"George, you're really starting to bother me," Fred interrupted in a low tone that was unfamiliar to George. _Unfamiliar?__ Is that really possible?_

Fred kept a stern gaze on George before finally sighing and relaxing his shoulders.

"Listen. I don't mean to be cross with you. I'm just really tired." Fred rubbed his temples and managed a weak smile. "I've just been out and about. I traveled a little, nothing important. We're not attached at the waist, you know—we _can _do separate things," Fred laughed. George wasn't even smiling.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'll tell you all about it later, ok? And as for the 'everyone' you told that I had apparently 'gone missing', I'm not mad at you about, ok? Don't worry. I forgive you. We can fix that whole mess in the morning.  I admit I was daft in not telling you I was planning to be absent for a few days." Fred nodded, apparently content with his explanation. "But right now though, I'm heading to bed." He turned to go.

_You forgive me? Me?? _George recognized that a whole lot of what Fred was saying was failing logically, but he was more concerned with other things at the moment. For example: had Fred _completely_ lost his mind? How could the two of them be thinking so differently? And why couldn't George read his brother like a book? Was he just out of practice? Could George actually be in the wrong here? But an even stronger emotion that practically burst from his chest was…

"Fred!" he called once again. Fred stopped and looked back at his twin with such weary disdain that George almost wanted to ask for forgiveness.

"What now?" breathed Fred.

"You...you look different." George tried to remain neutral while saying this, like he meant it in a good way, but he felt just the opposite. It wasn't much of a difference—something he doubted others would notice at all. But his twin's hair was a mite shorter, edgier, and even his eyes seemed a little lighter…or was is darker?

 It was enough of a change for George to know _he_ wasn't included in it. Fred seemed seriously consider the statement, looking at George very hard before replying:

"Yea, I guess. Goodnight." He finally headed upstairs.

George looked at his watch; only five minutes ago he had been so worried sick about other half he thought he could very possibly die. Now he knew was Fred was alive and well. He wasn't sure when he was better off.

In the middle of the night, George woke up again. This time he wasted no time in making it to his brother's bed. He squeaked across the wooden floor and drew back the heavy curtains around the four poster. This time Fred lay there asleep, looking for all the world like the brother George remembered.

George watched him slowly breathing in and out. He could feel every breath in his own chest. _Maybe I really was too hasty in sounding the alarm. Maybe this is how Fred is going to act as an adult. Maybe this is how I'm supposed to act now. Mabe this was just to be expected when we got older. _

He felt the ache behind his eyes return. _It just seems so wrong, though…_ George had ignored the ache for going on four years, and this time was no different. Fred taught him crying didn't solve anything. You should much rather laugh about it your problems. That was the real truth.

George slowly lowered himself onto Fred's mattress, lying still and apart from his brother. He felt his other half sleeping, filling the silence, and at the moment it was enough for him. _Maybe this can be enough… I'm just so glad he's back…_

George felt the weight of his brother's hand rest atop his head for a moment. Then Fred turned over onto his side and went back to sleep.


	3. Not So Identical

George Weasley awoke to a scream.

"_FRED!"_ came the high pitched exclamation through the floorboards. George lay there, smiling a little to himself as deeper voices joined Hermione's _So ,I__ wasn't dreaming._ George stretched out on Fred's bed, happily feeling the dent his twin had left behind.

"I can't believe your back, mate!"

"Are you alright? Is everything okay?"

"Thank heavens you're alright, Fred!"

The jubilant voices were a welcome sound to George's ears. _Everything is going to be alright now_. The morning made everything a lot less stressed, and a lot less dramatic. By the time George had pulled on his work shirt and a pair of jeans, he was sure that his row last night with Fred had been caused by a crux of emotion in them both. Hell, Fred _had_ apologized, _and_ had warned his brother about how tired he was. Fred had even agreed to tell him everything about his absence the next day. Today.

George reckoned that because of his own high state of stress last night, he probably had overreacted to an extent. _Whatever it is, even if there are some things to be worked out, we can work them out. Everything is going to be normal again soon. _Not wanting to miss the reunion, George neglected his hygiene and headed downstairs. _We've got to work the whole Order thing out today, but Fred'll probably think its funny, knowing him. _

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"How could you let us worry our bloody heads off about you, Fred? Why didn't you tell us where you were going?" Ron's admonishing voice was the first thing George heard as he walked into the shop. Fred was facing away from him, but George could see he was leaning on the countertop, arms folded. Hermione stood next to him, looking as if she had been holding onto Fred's arm but had just stepped away. No one looked so happy anymore.

"Really, Fred—where were you?" Harry stood by Ron, both of them looking a little worried.

The stair squeaked and Fred whipped around to face George.

"Why does everyone think I'm dead, _George_? How many people did you tell that I was dead, _George_?" Fred asked heatedly. George was so caught off guard by an angry look on his twin's face that he couldn't answer.

"ah……" he began.

"No, really George, tell me _why_ you told everyone I was dead."

"I didn't…" George felt his fluster show up on his own face; he hated that he was being embarrassed in front of the trio, whose expressions were becoming more alarmed by the moment.

Hermione spoke up in his defense: "George never said you were dead, Fred. We were all just worried about you."

"But did he have to call in the _goddamned Order_?" Fred asked bitingly, never taking his eyes away from George.

The look of surprise on Ron, Hermione, and Harry's face was an unpleasant confirmation that his twin was not behaving normally. _Well, so much for laughing over the matter._

But George made an effort to remain level headed: "Fred, we can fix it. We can just floo to the Order, explain the whole situation—"

"I am not flooing anyplace, I can tell you that right now," interrupted Fred. "_Especially_ to visit the Order. I would rather take a bludger to the brain."

Hermione looked shocked. She had never heard such a difference in tones from twins in all her years of knowing them. She gently reached out and put her hand on Fred's shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was just as gentle:

"Fred—you might still be upset…we can't understand why, because you haven't told us where you've been or what's happened to you. Normally that's your business, and we wouldn't pry. But this is a very different situation. It's unspeakably dangerous for you to have been out like that without informing anyone. You're tied right to the Order, and don't think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named won't know that by now."

Harry nodded. "She's right. You shouldn't get mad at George—he was doing exactly what anyone would have done in the same situation. We had no _idea _whether Voldemort had kidnapped, or even killed you by now. Going to the Order is _exactly_ what George should have done."

"Now your just gonna have to call mum and explain to her and the Order why you skipped out without telling anyone. But it's not like you haven't been in trouble before, Fred…" Ron said and smiled, tapping his nose.

Fred moved out from underneath Hermione's hand without so much as glancing at her. "No, I am _not_ taking responsibility for this blooming disaster. But I can tell you what_ is_ going to happen. George is going to personally fly to old man Dumbledore if he has to, and tell the Order that he was pulling their leg this whole time."

"_What?" _Hermione, Harry and Ron asked simultaneously.

"Fred—you're being bloody insane! What is wrong with you?" asked Ron, incredulously.

Harry gaped. "You want your own brother to lie? To the Order?"

Fred, now that he had found his desired exit from responsibility, had calmed down considerably. "Look, I dunno how this is any of your business. This is between me an' George. Meanwhile, you li'l wizardlings need to go open up shop."

Hermione glanced towards the brightly lit doorway and the dozens of shoppers happily making their way by the windows. Then she put her hands on her hips. "Listen here, Fred. I don't know what your reasons were for disappearing, but--"

"'Mione, this isn't your--"

"Don't interrupt me. Your disappearing was a stupid—a very stupid—thing to do at a time like this. We were all wrought with fear for an _entire week_, especially your poor brother. And now you just show back up again with no feasible excuse for being gone at all, and try to thrust this burden onto George--"

"If I knew that when I moved out that I would be under stricter rules then the one's mum and dad placed on me..."Fred glowered.

"That's not what this is about. You know that. You've have to be responsible! This is just is not the time and place to be gallivanting about--"

"Just drop it, Hermione."

"You were in danger. We're all in danger."

"I was not in danger, Hermione."

"We are currently at _war_ with Voldemort_, _Fred!"

_"I have nothing to do with that stupid war!" _roared Fred, causing everyone to jump. The red-head had apparently reached the end of his rope; his face flushed and his eyes were sparkling with anger. Raising his hands in defeat, he stormed upstairs.

"Bloody hell…" whispered Ron.

Hermione had covered her mouth with her hand when Fred had yelled, and had yet still to remove it. The hurt was clear in her eyes.

Harry quickly went over to her and gently patted her on the back. "Don't be upset, Hermione. You said all the right things." She blinked.

"Was I too…hard on him? I wasn't, was I?"

"How can we know?" asked Ron. "He hasn't told us a damn thing."

Harry had never seen Fred this angry…well, no. that wasn't true either. When Author Weasley had been maimed by Voldemort's snake the previous year, the twins had both been upset and fuming. But when Sirius couldn't give them answers quickly enough, it was Fred who quickly became livid. He looked as if he were one step away from shoving Sirius up against a wall. Instead, he called Harry's godfather a coward. So Harry knew that Fred could get quite a temper when he was pushed far enough…but what had fueled _this_ anger?

"What do you suppose he meant by that?" asked Ron. "How could he say he has nothing to do with the war? That's like…"

"I'll do it," said George. Harry flinched. He knew he wasn't the only one who had forgotten George was still in the room. The remaining twin still stood near the bottom of the stairs. His expression was unreadable.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Your not thinking of doing what Fred is suggesting you do, are you? That's ludicrous, George."

George shrugged. "It won't be so bad. If he really needs me to take the heat this time, so what? He'll have his reasons, and I have a lot to repay him for."

"Mum is going to absolutely bury you," said Ron, actually looking worried rather then pleased.

"Probably. But then this whole ordeal will be done with, eh? He's my brother—I've gotta help him out." George made an effort to smile, ruffled Ron's hair, made some poor excuse, and walked out the front door of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Normally during the summertime, the twins would be back at the burrow, making mischief and causing mayhem throughout the household. George would be sneaking newly concocted serums into ickle Ronniekin's morning cereal while Fred would be in the other room, distracting Mrs. Weasley while her youngest turned blue/grew ear hair/shot out sparks.

Other then that, they were always together. It was completely natural for them to behave as if they were two halves to the same person. Fred and George. Like breathing. Like blinking. George and Fred. Like eating and drinking. But now George was not with his twin.

Instead, he was perched on the railing of their balcony, staring dully into the night below. There were no large meals being cooked underneath him in the kitchen, their smells wafting up through the floorboards. Mr. Weasley wasn't in the shed tinkering with a muggle toaster, and Ginny wasn't out in the garden, banishing gnomes. There were no friendly lights in the streets of Diagon Ally. George just breathed for a little while, resting his forehead on his knee. Even as he yearned to take a hiatus from the shop and return to his well-worn bed in the Burrow, it was no longer an option.

His family was furious with him. It took some convincing, persuading them that Fred's whole disappearance was George's pathetic attempt at a prank. But when he finally did convince the Order that he had indeed been that foolish, hobgoblins…had he ever payed the consequences. His mother had sent over three howlers in the course of a week; his father had sent a letter saying that not since Percy had abandoned his family had he been so ashamed of one of his sons. Dumbledore had sent an official scolding, suspending George's apparition license for half a year. George hadn't heard from the rest of the Order, but his guess was they weren't happy after all those "wasted" hours searching for a boy who had never really gone missing. George felt a warm breeze ruffle his hair and glanced up. For a minute he'd hoped Fred had reappeared, joining him on the porch by broomstick.

Yes, Fred had run off again. This time he left a note: "Gone. Not dead. Be back soon.-Fred" This had been the second time this week he'd disappear, only to return a few days later. After his outburst, the trio had left the red-headed bear well enough alone, sending him only worried looks as they went about their chores. Soon though, even they grew accustomed to his frequent absentness. His new lifestyle. A lifestyle which George was thoroughly excluded from.

George had let a few days pass after the argument, assuming Fred would eventually speak up after he stopped feeling threatened and the Order was off his back. No such luck. It wasn't until Fred was clearly about to skedaddle off again in the middle of the night that George had woken up and said something:

"Fred…where are you going?" George had made sure his voice was as non-aggressive as possible. He was just weary and wanted his brother back. That was all. That was it.

"I'll be back really soon, George. Don't fret," Fred answered, buttoning up his shirt.

"…Ok. Listen, you know everything with the Order is settled now, right?"

"Yea. I know."

There was a long silence. George sat up in his bed, staring at his twin. Fred's starchy white shirt was a little baggy on him now; the red head had lost weight.

Fred stood up and headed for the door.

"Fred?"

George's voice was so light, he was a little surprised Fred had heard it. But he stopped and looked back over his shoulder, waiting.

"Listen…whatever's been going on? Whatever you can't tell even me? I don't even…I just don't even care anymore. Just know—just know that I'll always love you, alright? No matter what, okay?"

It was funny…not in a long time had that needless phrase passed between the twins. It was so unnecessary, so apparent in every moment of their lives. But now, when spoken, it sounded stale.

Fred waited for a moment, nodded, and walked out the door. George was alone again. Physically, instead of just mentally. He still couldn't decide which was worse.

George slid off the railing. That conversation had been a week ago, and the last time they had really talked. He was feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. Suddenly, a voice drifted up onto the balcony. George stopped to listen closely; it wasn't Fred or one of the trio's voices. He assumed it had to be a friend of the trio—they had stayed late this Friday night to meet up with some of their D.A friends at the Leaky Cauldron, and must have invited some back to the store. Taking a large breath, George decided to go join them. All this moping about certainly couldn't be good for anyone, certainly his friends, who now walked on eggshells around him.

"Hey George!" chirped Hermione, drinking the last of a butterbeer. Harry and Ron were standing beside her, smiling as well.

"Hey there. You guys have a good time?"

"A great time," said Harry enthusiastically. "You need to join us next time. We're just about to floo home."

"You should have seen how much Hagrid drank…woo hoo! Hey, any word from Fred?" asked Ron. Hermione and Harry glared at him simultaneously.

"Oh, you know how he is…" started George. Suddenly, he heard the strange voice once more.

"Er…did any of your friends come back with you?" asked George.

"No, why…?" began Ron.

The voice drifted up once more.

"Its coming from the basement," said Harry coolly. He pulled out his wand and started for the cellar door. One by one, the rest followed.

-----------------------------------

The basement was still dark and dank, even though this is where the twins concocted most of their schemes. Their lab was on the left when the gang stepped off the last of the rickety stairs, but the voice wasn't coming from there.

"The furnace?" whispered Hermione. Harry nodded and slowly made his way around the clutter, George at his side. George brandished his wand as they rounded the furnace.

"Fred?" Ron asked, coming up behind them.

It _was _Fred. He was standing there, hunched over the fire. His voice was very low, but the one coming _from _the flames was loud and gritty. When Fred whipped around, they all got a glimpse of who it was he was talking to.

"Oh, God…" mouthed Hermione.

A Death Eater shimmered in the blue flames before quickly disappearing from sight. But it was too late; they all had recognized the garb. And the white-blonde locks peeking out from the hood left little mystery to the identity of this particular Death Eater.

Harry stepped forward, wand still unsheathed. "This is over now, Fred. You can't play these dangerous games anymore. Whatever you're doing, however you think your tricking Voldemort or helping the Order, this is too dangerous. It's done."

Fred shimmered like the flames, angry and combustible. "Leave me alone, Potter."

Hermione just gaped, stupefied. "You would risk us all in your schemes, Fred? You think that Dumbledore, the greatest wizard and greatest mind of our century, cannot stop Voldemort and _you _can?"

"We have to tell the Order about this, Fred," said Ron. "No more lying. Who knows what damage you've done by screwing around with Death Eaters? What if they can trace that conversation back here, eh?"

Fred looked them all in the face, and sighed. He rolled his eyes and tried to make his way past them and back towards the stairs. But George stepped in front of him. He looked shook to the very bone.

"No. No, No, No." He said, shaking. "You're wrong, Harry, Hermione, Ron. I might not be as close to my brother as I used to be, but I still know when he's trying to pull one on me."

"What are you…?" Harry began.

George stared into Fred's eyes. He stared back with a hallow glaze that scared George more then anything else. Grabbing his twin's arm, George yanked up the sleeve and jerked Fred's wrist so that his forearm was completely visible. He quickly threw Fred's arm down. _Oh my God._

Scrawled like a scorpion, embedded upon that pale arm amidst the faint freckles, wicked and black, laid the Dark Mark.

George felt himself sink into his brother's arms, reacting upon built up anger, welling sadness, and weeks of hopelessness until only one thing was left: He began to cry. And his brother, shaking anew with his own glossy emotion, smiled. Then Fred began to laugh.


	4. Half Hearted

_The fourth (had to think about it) installment of this series has definitely been the hardest to write. I can't tell if it's harder to write a slightly psychopathic twin, or majorly depressed one, because I so desperately want them to be in character. If their not, then what's the whole point of a semi-serious fanfic? It's a lot of speculation though…because shit like this hasn't happened to the twins in the books…yet. Before I even begin to write, I read quotes from the twins, look at fan art, and try to stay in the mood. So, this would be my second attempt at this chapter…Anyway, definitely read to the end of this chapter. Semi-juicy subplot! Anyway, this is definitely dedicated to Yume-Dream, Lilac Bloom and PinkMooseofDoom for staying with the story and reading it so intently you catch errors I don't even catch after reading it ten times over. (I make the correction, too! Go me:) So please, read, enjoy, and tell me what you enjoy/loathe._

At one point in his life, Fred Weasley had skipped down the hallways at Hogwarts with his twin, singing "Heir of Slytherine, coming through! Watch out—he's bloody dangerous!" as Harry followed, trying not to laugh at his own misfortune. At one point in his life, Fred had attempted to send Harry a toilette seat while the Boy Who Lived lay in the hospital. At another, Fred had tried to seal Percy into a pyramid, handed over a magical map, rescued Harry with a flying car, and confided to him that speaking troll was easy ("all you have to do is point and grunt"). At one point, he had been described by Oliver Wood as a "human bludger"; he angered his mother; he teased Ron; he had hopes and dreams of running his own joke shop; he played, he loved and he laughed.

Here it was, another point in his life, and he was still laughing.

From where he sniveled against the collar of Fred's starchy white shirt, George felt his brother's chest tremor with little vibrations of this very laughter. His forearm was still exposed where the Dark Mark stood out, dark as oil against pale, freckled skin. "_Fred, Fred, Fred_…" whined George, pressed against his brother and leaking tears. Hermione, Harry and Ron all let out involuntary cries as soon as they saw the mark; Hermione fell back against the basement wall, her hand pressed to her mouth. The look of absolute horror and confusion that struck all her features was mirrored on Ron's face. From his sheet-colored lips came a moan not unlike the sound one makes when kicked in the stomach.

_This isn't playing. This isn't any type of prank. You can't go back from this._ George's lifted his cheek from the scratchy button-up. _No, not possibly._ _No coming back._ His mind spun for answers to solve this dilemma, but came up blank. There was no way in the wizarding realm Fred could have that mark unless…

George heard feet moving quickly across the cement floor, and he peered over Fred's arm. Harry was the only one without a look of crippling revulsion on his face; instead, his expression was stone cold and his wand was out. He was also blocking the exit. _Of course, you can count on Harry to always be prepared…_

"Let go of George _now_," Harry's almost finished the sentence with "Fred", but he stopped himself. It was just too fucking unbearable at present.

_Let go?_ thought George, his hands clenching at his twin's shirt. He could feel Fred glance down at him.

"Please," said Fred, brushing George aside as if the thought of using him for anything at this point was ludicrous. That razor tooth grin reappeared on his face, but he remained unarmed. Harry's stance widened nonetheless, his eyes large and sad behind the glass frames.

It was a standoff. They had just discovered one of the most horrifying truths in all their years of fighting against Voldemort, and here Harry was, ready to take down one of the people he admired the most. Sometimes he hated being himself.

"Why? _Why?_" Hermione's voice shakily interrupted the two boy's face-off. It was all she could manage.

"Hermione…"breathed Ron, gently but firmly taking her arm and pulling her back. He was horrified at the very notion of his brother--_his own brother_—turning out to be such a…a…_monster_. But the thought of keeping Hermione safe overrode even this abhorrence.

Harry nodded towards the furnace. "Was that Death Eater Lucius Malfoy?"

Fred thought for a moment, and then nodded aggressively.

"Did you..?" Harry's voice cracked, and then he regained himself. "Fred, did you do that? Getting him out of Azkaban like that?"

"Yep." Fred tilted his head and shrugged. "Okay, well…more or less." Even with the Dark Mark, good ol' Fred seemed to crave the spotlight.

Harry's shoulders shrank considerably. "After all that—all that effort getting the Death Eaters into Azkaban—after all the people who were hurt in the process—after Sirius _died_ fighting them-- it had to be _you_? Why?

A few of Fred's auburn locks flopped in his face. "I dunno, mate." He grinned. "I suppose because my master wanted me too. Yea…that'll be my guess".

George's dimming hope was almost snuffed out by that last sentence. He couldn't bring himself to even see the pain and anger registering on his friend's faces. _Fred…_he yearned, staring pleadingly at his brother. _Please just stop this. Stop it! Just come back._

"Okay, then… but you know we can't let you go now, Fred." said Harry carefully. "It doesn't matter who you are. You're going straight to the Order."

If Harry's intent had been as clear as he'd hoped, he would have expected a decent struggle or perhaps even an argument. What he did not expect Fred Weasley to do was to toss back his head and roll with laughter. The twin stared down at Harry, his face tilted towards the ceiling and the corners of his mouth stretched tight. The effect sent chill through everyone in the room. It was a very familiar sound, which it made it all the worse. Oh,_ how_ he laughed. Eventually though, his giggles waned and he spoke:

"Oh, oh…my goodness, Harry. You four are just too funny, looking so surprised. I cannot _begin _to even understand how The Dark Lord struggles with the likes of you every year. I've run with you every year, and looking back, _I _can't even get it. I mean, just look how long it took you to find me out for godsakes, and I wasn't even hiding from you!" Fred rested a hand on his own chest, his chuckles diminishing. "An' Harry bloomin' Potter…do you honestly think I want to leave your side? Do you think I actually mind going to the Order? Being around the very mechanics of old man Dumbledore's pathetic operation?" Fred sortof shook his head like he often did after he'd completed a perfect Bludger Backbeat. "Why do you think he chose me in the first place?"

"Chose you?" piped up Hermione from the back of the room. Ron gave her a stern look, but she still stepped past him, her cheeks wet. "Chose you for what exactly?"

"You know, as one of his,' sniffed Fred.

"And how did he do that?" she pressed. _If he's going to be this open about it…_

"My master," beamed Fred, completely unconcerned with his surroundings, "He liked what he saw when he was possessing li'l sis. He liked me especially—said he saw a lot of potential in me. That's why he chose me." He couldn't have been more pleased had he and George actually managed to join the Triwizard Championship a few years back.

"Chose you…to put a spell on?" Hermione finished.

"_No! _There's no bloody spell," retorted Fred. Hermione had obviously touched a nerve; he reacted as if several others had already bothered him about this. Harry couldn't fathom who—unless it was Wormtail or something. _Oh…gah._ Harry couldn't even think about it without feeling ill to his stomach.

But now the idea was out in the open.

"Your going to be tied up now," stated Harry calmly. _We can ponder the possibilities all day long after this is taken care of. _ _Right now, though…_Harry reached out his wand.

Fred shrugged. "No need to get all shirty with me, mate. I don't wannabe anywhere but here anyway," he answered, offering up his wrists with a wink.

"Do you _want_ to see me go completely berserk? More berserk then Fred right now? 'Cause if you do, by all means, hand him over to the Order," said George, leaning on the Wizarding Wheeze's countertop. "I mean, five minutes ago, I just bound and gagged my own _brother_—and now you want me to hand him over to be executed? That's just not happening."

Harry, Hermione and Ron looked at one another. Part of that true; minutes ago _they_ had formed a makeshift prison for their newly acquired Death Eater down in the basement. The binding wasn't a big deal, but knowing Fred, he probably wasn't too thrilled about being gagged—but he just wouldn't_ stop_ laughing. George however, disappeared while they worked. He had to be alone; being alone was now feeling closer to Fred then standing right next to that person in the cellar.

_Knowing Fred…_Harry worked hard to keep himself in the present if there was any hope he wasn't going to just get up and fly away right then. He was _tired_. How could he possibly deal with the death of someone he loved so dearly, and now _this_ abomination? Another death, in a sense, of someone _else _he admired--someone who had made him forget about his own problems for a little while; someone who teased and prodded Harry's every difficulty out of existence? While Harry spoke figuratively, a literal death might be following closely behind if what George said was true.

"The Order wouldn't do that…would they?" asked Ron, steadying himself against a shelf of Fever Fudge.

"Yes—of course they would!" answered George. After his brief hiatus, he seemed much more alert and focused. Of course, anything was a step up from wailing at the feet of a Death Eater.

"I doubt they would place the Imperious Curse on him when walked in the door," said Hermione dryly. "And we're really going to need their power if we want to help Fred. Right now…I don't even know…"she trailed. She didn't want to voice her doubts to the others.

"No? Then what about after they realized that he was the one who helped a Death Eater escape from Azkaban? What then?" George asked irritably.

"Like I said before," Hermione trudged on, "I think this whole thing—Fred's behavior recently, his new allegiance to Voldemort—is due to a powerful spell that was placed on him. A spell that couldn't be detected by us—maybe not even detectable to Fred himself. There's just something off about this whole thing."

"Oh really, Hermione? You're must be bloody genius," drolled Ron, not unlike Draco Malfoy. " 'Cuz I thought that was apparent from how my older brother and one of Dumbledore's biggest supporters goes and gets the sodding Dark Mark overnight. That would have been my first guess—silly me."

Hermione didn't even rise to the argument. She knew that everyone was feeling short-tempered; especially the one's who thought they knew Fred best.

"Ok—ok, then," said George, excitedly. "We've established that it must be a spell or some lot. So why can't _we _deal with this ourselves?"

"Don't be stupid, George. It's the bloody Dark Mark. We can't fix it by yelling "Reparo!" before tea," snapped Ron.

The furious expression that appeared on George's face made Hermione think twice about chiming in with her agreement. The look reminded her of Fred. The new one, of course. …_The new one?_

"See here," growled George. "Do you think that this is somehow my fault, Ron? _Do you?_ Because…Because I already know it is—I already know this happened because of me, alright Ron? You don't need to tell _me_ that." George's voice quivered and he took a moment before continuing. "Listen…I just can't lose him, alright? I just can't. It's not an option for me. And if that means leaving the Order out of this for the time being, that's what we're going to do." George paused, staring at each of them. Suddenly a small smile lit his lips. "I mean, look at us. We already have a team of the finest Voldemort-vanquishing wizards around, along with a brilliant brain and The Boy Who Lived. We even have Fred in our possession—in a place He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cannot reach. If anyone can do it,_ we_ should be able to." The smile faded. "Or _I _will-- alone. Which-bloody-ever."

"No way would you have to do this on your own," Hermione said gently, reaching over the counter to put her hand over George's. She was worried about this business with the Order, but she was worried about George more. She nodded at Harry, patting George's hand.

Harry looked at her skeptically before massaging his temple. "I dunno…that doesn't sound like a very sound plan. This is very serious, George."

"I know that more then anyone! Please--let's just give us a try. Give us three days—if that doesn't work, then we'll turn Fred over the Order. Then I'll _know_ that there's no hope for him… you can even blame the wait on me, if you'd like."

Harry studied the twin for a while; he thought about it, and finally he nodded, (if only for the fact he'd wished Dumbledore would have graced _him _with a chance so many months ago).

"You guys are bloody bonkers," said Ron, pushing himself away from the shelf. However, he looked a little relieved himself.

"You git, I have to use the loo!" laughed Fred, squirming in his ropes. It was to no avail; Hermione had placed a version of the stunning spell on the chair and its bindings long ago. "Really, I might have the Dark Mark, but I still have to tinkle, eh? I mean, I guess I_ could_ just go on myself…"

Pumping Fred for information had not been easy; he had plenty to say, just like the Fred they remembered, but not about anything useful.

It was about two in the morning when everyone had tromped back downstairs. If George had three days to find a way to save his brother, he was going to use every minute to his advantage. After about an hour of Fred's silence/nonsensical rambling, the trio and George were pretty wiped. George had to excuse himself several times during the "interview" so he could go upstairs and calm down. Every time Fred did or said something familiar enough to make them all weep, George had to fight not to jump up, undo his brother's bindings, and hug him so tightly all this insanity just leaked out of his pores and onto the concrete below. It wasn't easy, and George often felt like he was on the wrong side of the interrogation; a voice inside kept asking "why, why wasn't you answering with Fred, by his side, finishing his sentences for him?"

Finally Hermione, yawning, asked Fred: "So why did Voldemort "choose" you and not George?"

Fred looked at George like he'd forgotten all about him. Then his eyes lit up: "He didn't choose me between me an' George, he chose me because he wanted _me _as one of his own. See, unlike old man Dumbledore, he takes care of _his _children. Let me tell you, Dumbledore—well, old man Dumbledore couldn't even protect our dad from a blooming _snake_." That was the only point any real malice leaked into Fred's voice at all. This sounded honest: "If Dumbledore can't even protect his own, what chance do any of us have fighting with him? I mean, Dad is even in the Order an' _everything_. Please…" Fred trailed off, looking distant. Then his eyes snapped back up: "At least The Dark Lord takes care of his own. Of course, he takes care of the faithful—but don't we all choose the faithful? He'd even pretty lenient on that-- I mean, look at Malfoy." Fred made a 'silly face' that was painfully familiar. "And he chose _me_. Just me. God, your so jealous it just eats you up inside, eh George? Eh, Harry?" He smiled, apparently not registering the expressions of loathing he was receiving.

"Oh, Fred…you know that's not true," whispered Hermione from where she was sitting on the floor. "You know the horrible things He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has done. You _know_ Dumbledore has done his best—you must know Voldemort is lying when he tells you those things."

Fred snorted. "Have you ever known me to be reckless?" he asked. George laughed before he could stop himself (he kept forgetting...) "Honestly, I have nothing against the Order, even though my master does," Fred continued, "I just hate the way they try to control all of Wizard-kind. God forbid anyone wants to do something different; try other kinds of magic, live their own life. No, then Dumbledore and his army get to throw you into Azkaban for it..." He paused. Then, seconds later: "…Hobgoblins…what a bunch of narcissist prats running about, each one more self-righteous then the next. Like Percy." Fred's eyes faded. "Just like Percy," he mumbled.

George caught the look pass between Hermione and Harry. It basically read: "maybe he really _is_ just crazy."

This sparked up fumes in George. "Shuttup, Fred!" he yelled suddenly. "You don't believe a word of that bullock! Even if you did, you'd see how idiotic you sound right now. I mean, do you _want_ the Order to just kill you? Huh? Because if you do, then you'll keep this up."

"The Dark Lord wouldn't let that happen," replied Fred coolly. And that's when he closed up. His eyes dulled, and his mouth shut. No longer was he willing to participate in these foolish games.

George let out a noise of pure frustration before storming upstairs. The trio gave each weary, heavy lidded glances. _Oh, God…_

Waking up with a start, George sat up in his bed. He had finally decided to pass out around five am. The clock now read 6:18. Sitting in the silence, as sentences and past conversation swirled through his head, he knew that down just two flights, Fred was still awake. Harry had crashed in the basement to keep an eye on their "captive," but Fred still hadn't shut his eyes. George could feel it. That was part of the difficulty—feeling scraps and pieces of Fred's emotions constantly as he descended into madness, taking his twin down with him.

Pushing the hair out of his eyes, George got up. He went over to Fred's room; hovering around Fred's bed before sitting on the chair next to his twin's desk. After staring off into space for several minutes, George looked down. He pushed a few papers around on the desktop. It was pretty cluttered since Fred never tried to hide anything away into specific drawers. There were several old designs, some old letters from home, and some old spells in the making. Everything was dated. It was a tomb to the Fred Before All This Happened. Pushing aside one last scrap, George unearthed some photos Fred had taken. _Woa__.__ These are pretty recent._

Three out of the four were a series of Fred and Hermione. In one they were both laughing happily in that very same room and in that very same chair. Photo-Hermione was looking up at photo-Fred, who was perched atop the tabletop. He was teasing her about something, as usual. In the next, he slid off the table and plopped down in her lap. It made George smile to himself, the silliness of Fred's long legs sprawled across 'Mione's lap. She looked at if she were squealing, but not unhappy. _Did he know then? Was he already working for Voldemort? _ George wondered, watching his brother joyfully kick his legs and suck on his thumb. In the last photo, Fred leaned and gave Hermione a kiss on each cheek. Her photo-self blushed immensely and she looked about to scold him. But George knew his brother's antics—he was just testing her. Sure enough, Fred leaned in, and from the back of his head, it looked at if he'd pecked her lightly on the lips. Then the photo restarted. George smiled faintly. _He couldn't have known then. _

Watching the sequence one more, George then flipped over the last photo. It was of both the twins. George immediately remembered that day; it was a week after the trio had started working for them. Fred was still toying with his new camera. He had set up a timed picture, and had pulled George into it. He was holding George around the chest with one arm, and the other was flung out in exuberance. Fred had his head tilted back, and was beaming right at the camera. George's eyes were closed because he was laughing so hard. His potion was sloshing out (that's what he had been doing before being accosted) and their hair seemed to blend together to make one mop between them. George dropped the photo.

He had to fix what was broken.

He had to make his brother well.

Because if he couldn't…

then he couldn't be alone…

and he'd have no choice but to follow his brother down the rabbit hole.

_Wouldn't Fred Weasley make a kick-ass Death Eater? I mean, other then the whole "not especially evil" thing, he definitely has the pizzazz, the know-how, the skill, and the dedication to make it work _and_ to be Voldemort's favorite. I mean, Voldemort's claim to fame is that he's a pretty convincing guy--so it's not as ridiculous as it sounds…. It works…I dunno. It's kind of surprising I can't find more fics about good-guys-gone-bad. Oh, and by the way, I actually have a plot lined up—so, this is actually going someplace. Someplace swell. Um…and fair reader? I love you. A lot._


	5. One to Tango

Fred's lips were dry and smooth. His incisors bumped up against George's gums in the forceful motion of the kiss; his tongue quickly following. Jerking backwards, George felt the back of his skull hit the wall behind him, but the pain didn't register. Fred leaned even farther in, pushing his twin even closer up against the wall. This was no easy feet considering Fred's hands were still tightly bound behind his back. Finally, when he was good and ready, Fred pulled back, slowly dragging out George's lip before totally releasing him, a look severe smugness on his face.

"Feel better?" asked Fred, looking sidewise at the trio. Hermione's lip was curled in disgust, Harry's jaw was dropped (wand out, however), and Ron had turned away completely, a deep shade of scarlet scorching his cheeks. First thing this morning, they had finally allowed Fred a chance to get up go to the loo under the careful supervision of all four of his captors. He had been perfectly behaved so far, being only a little crude while asking Hermione if she planned on helping him out in the actual toilet as well. 'Stuff that Fred might have normally said even in normal circumstances. You know, circumstances minus the Dark Mark. But on the way back down to the basement from the loo, Fred had turned on his brother (who had been leading him tightly by the arm) in the small space.

"That…That was a little much, don't you think, Fred?" said Harry, swallowing back his disturbance and regaining his stature. He was well aware of the intimidation game, growing up with the Dursleys, Malfoy, and Snape for prime references. _Not that they normally kiss their relatives in doing so, though_…

"You could have just asked if you wanted our attention."

It had been hard to translate George's reaction the strange assault; he hadn't struggled mightily against it; however, he hadn't had much time to react. It wasn't until his blank eyes flamed up and he grabbed Fred's shoulders, giving them a powerful shake, that anyone could read George. Giving Fred another shake (nothing painful, but enough to snap back Fred's head), George drew himself back so that he was at arms length, eye-to-eye with his twin.

"_Give me back my brother_," he spoke low and forcefully. It reminded Hermione of an exorcism she had seen pictures of in a book once.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. It's not like you've never wanted to try that, Georgy Porgey. I know you," drawled Fred, speaking his first full sentence of the day and looking mightily pleased with it. Then he snapped back to the trio:

"Listen, you ickle wizardlings either need to hand me over to the Order or let me go. I'm getting' very bored hanging out in your—scratch that—_my_ basement all the live long day." He sighed exaggeratedly. "Hopping hoaxes, I knew it was a mistake to hire you three." He started to laugh at himself.

_Ah, the truth comes out, _thought Harry. Fred's little performance and his jokes were all trying to hide his very real annoyance with being trapped. He was, in essence, trying to psych out his captors.

"Get him back downstairs," said Hermione, nodding to Ron and Harry. _Letting him getting under our skin won't help us in the least._ Ron and Harry each grabbed an elbow and started leading the red-head. Fred made a mock-disappointment face and followed, leaning towards Ron and laughing as his little brother spazmed out of his way. As the three of them disappeared from sight, Hermione faced George, who had his scowl on. She'd never forgive Fred for putting such an abnormal expression on such a playful spirit as George Weasley, whether he _was_ under a spell or not.

"We haven't had any luck so far, George," she said rather loudly, trying to drown out Fred's wafting sing-song version of "Georgy Porgy pudding pie, kissed his brother and made him cry…" coming up from the basement.

"I know," retorted George. "But so what? I have today and tomorrow before we alert the Order. Remember our agreement?"

Hermione nodded, her lips pursed with concern.

"Then stop your sodding whining until then, okay?" he snapped. A glimpse of her widened eyes made him regret his answer instantly, and an awkward silence ensued.

"Im sorry, 'Mione…" he muttered first, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No, that's okay," she replied, making every effort to look chipper. "He's your twin—you have every right to be upset that this is happening."

"No, I'm still being an arse." He mirrored her smile. Another pause. "And, Yeh, and he's my brother an' all, but you still have ties to him yourself."

She glanced up with a little crease forming between her eyebrows. She couldn't tell if…

"I found those pictures of the two of you," he answered her question. Immediately, she turned as tomato as Ron had earlier.

"Don't be daft, they just made me laugh, okay? It made me feel good to see him…y'know, like he was before," shrugged George. He could tell Hermione had been trying to avoid thinking about Fred in that way during the last few days; sensibly speaking, it seemed like the best plan of action. He certainly hadn't known(not like these things had ever been a major deal between the twins), but now that he did, he felt a little more kindly towards Hermione, knowing that on some level, she had been bruised right along with him during Fred's descent.

"Oh, it wasn't a big deal," when she finally spoke, she did it very softly, probably so no one below could hear her. "It wasn't much more then in the pictures. You know…nothing big". George wasn't extremely familiar with Hermione's past flings (although he _was_ sure that they had not been what one would call extensive) but he nodded in strong agreement anyway. "Just-er-- don't show those pictures to anyone else, alright?" she asked, sounding quite calm but looking quite pink. George felt himself smile a genuine smile for the first time in a long time.

"Of course not. Say, do you want 'em? The pics? They're up in Fred's room on his table. They're all yours if you'd like," he said.

"Yea…that might be nice," she smiled back sheepishly. "Remembering that afternoon makes me remember Fred like he was. He really was himself, you know? He wasn't weird yet or anything…" she said, thinking back to the big galoot blowing at her hair and pinching her fingers while he did a fake palm reading. Their fH

lirting had been very tame; Fred had been very much himself around her, playing and teasing and making her smile beside herself. Then, at the perfect moment, he'd take it a step farther by giving her a brief kiss or squeezing her hand. It had been wonderful relief to let someone else worry about all the chasing. Someone a little more mature then what she was used to, someone who could be as determined as she could be… Of course, their "relationship" had been short and sweet, because soon after that was when Fred went missing for the first time. _Although…_

Thankfully, her reverie was cut short after Ron and Harry trudged back upstairs. _I've got to stay on track for Fred's sake,_ she thought firmly to herself.

"So what's the plan for today?" asked Ron, still unable to look his older brother in the eyes.

"This is what I was thinking," said Hermione. "Ron and I will do a little 'browsing' today out in the Ally. There's quite a few shops here that, with a little luck, will be able to provide us with all the research material we'll need for the time being. Meanwhile, Harry and George will stay here, look after Fred, and see if they can get anymore information out of him about Voldemort. It might help if we knew exactly how this happened."

Harry nodded and Ron groaned. He didn't like the idea of a day of intense studying, no matter if it was with Hermione or not.

She ignored his moan, tucked her wand into her robe, and headed out into the street. The crisp morning smell wafted in as she opened the door. It was an odd feeling to the three boys still in the shop, the knowledge that a world was still going on outside, bustling about in the warmth, while they stood in what was now feeling like a dank crypt. Ron gave a pitying shrug in Harry and George's direction and hurriedly followed after the bushy-haired witch.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What is this? You're doing all but cracking your knuckles at me, mate," grinning Fred, tilting his head at Harry. Their "little talk" with the Death Eater wasn't going so well thus far, but no one had assumed it would. Harry and George stood, leaning ominously against the wall of the basement and stared back at Fred.

_Okay, let's try something different,_ thought Harry. "So, Fred…when did all this start?" he asked innocently.

"What do you mean?" asked Fred coyly.

"I mean, why did Voldemort wait until now to 'choose you'?"

"I dunno—does it matter? Maybe I wasn't ready yet to join him. Maybe I didn't know enough. Maybe he didn't need me yet".

"Why do you think he chose to 'need you' now of all times? I mean, you're not even at Hogwarts anymore."

"I'll ask 'im later, I guess," Fred smiled.

"Maybe he hadn't had a chance to lure you in yet, eh?"

"I see where you're going with this, Harry, but he didn't lure me anywhere. I've had these ideas in my head for a long time; The Dark Lord just gave me the chance to do something about it. Y'can ask George if you'd like. He knows".

Harry glanced at George, but George didn't meet his eyes; he just shook his head slowly, looking aggravated. _Okay then._

"So how did it happen?" asked Harry.

"How did my master call me into his service? I dunno, Harry-that's pretty personal. Do you want me to ask _you _about Sirius's death or something?"

Harry glared.

"Exactly," said Fred nonchalantly. "What's mine is mine." The fierce grin reappeared. "I'll tell you though…it was pretty bloody spectacular."

"Sure," said Harry. "Though I'm suspecting you don't remember much of it, considering you've probably been hexed backwards and forwards so many times you can hardly see straight."

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Fred said in the pseudo-scolding way he did often did after Harry messed up a at Quidditch practice. "Let me be clear, because I know this is a difficult concept to grasp. _There. Is. No. Spell. _Don't let Dumbledore's prattish logic blunder you up, mate. It's just me."

George shook his head, the familiar ache in his chest reverberating with every word. He wondered briefly if he'd ever be able to read his twin's thoughts with ease ever again, but then shut the idea down. He couldn't afford to be wishy-washy at a time like this.

"Oh, don't start blubbering again, George," Fred said. "Don't make me come back over there an'…ah!" Fred flinched violently. His face scrunched up with what Harry recognized to be pain. Fred hissed slowly, letting all the air out of his lungs; he squirmed in the chair. "Bloody hell…" he murmured.

George quickly knelt at his brother's side. "What is it? Are you alright, Fred? _Fred_?" he asked anxiously.

Harry blinked; suddenly, the answer to this query dawned on him. He took Fred's arm (still bound) and pulled up the sleeve. The Dark Mark was almost pulsating on the twin's arm; it almost stood up from the skin. Harry brushed it with his fingers, and then quickly snatched them away. It was smoldering. _Thanks Professor,_ Harry thought, remembering all the times Snape had unconsciously rubbed his own Mark.

So, this is _one _way for Voldemort to get your attention," commented Harry while Fred clenched and unclenched his hands, eyes unfocused.

"Harry, he's in pain!" worried George. He could hardly stand to watch Fred in agony like this.

Fred jerked his head up fiercely, his eyes flashing. "Let me go," he growled.

"Yea, right," Harry answered, wondering briefly where all of Fred's finesse had disappeared off to.

"Untie me, George," Fred commanded, probably knowing he'd have a better chance with his twin.

"…er" George muttered.

"I thought you _wanted _to stay here with us, Fred. You certainly gave us that impression before Voldemort started blazing your arm up," said Harry.

"Release. Me. You. Bloody. _Git_," Fred's voice dipped down low and throaty, his lips parted in a sneer.

"What's all this, then? Your own master is hurting you, just to get your attention? How is that for affection? How's _that_ for compassion?" Harry couldn't help the cynicism that oozed out with his words.

"_Let me go!"_ Fred screamed, squirming violently now. "_My master needs me!"_

"That's just too bad."

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"Crikey, I'm starved," said Ron, peering longingly at a café through the big glossy window of Tomes, Tombs and Ancient Texts. Hermione looked up from her own large volume and followed Ron's gaze.

"If you're not going to stop saying that, Ron, then you should just go get something to eat. I'm trying to read."

Ron ignored her: "I mean, when's the last time _you_ ate something? Boy, I can tell you when I did, and it was too bloody long ago".

Hermione shut her book firmly. A thin film of dust had already dirtied her hands after all the searching she had done thus far, watched warily by the store's elderly owner. She hadn't been able to find anything useful yet—there was quite a bit of text on Death Eaters, but when it came to creating one, that's where it got vague. Ron had been looking at the same page for a long while, so she leaned over to see what he'd found.

"What to Feed Your Magic Beetle', Ron? How is that supposed to help Fred?"

Ron was still too entranced by the meals being eaten across the street to answer. Finally, he tore his gaze away; suddenly appreciative of how cute Hermione looked, watching him with a wrinkled nose as a sign of her annoyance.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Never mind that." He scratched at his collar, thinking before speaking again. "Hermione? I haven't found much, but I was wondering…you know how after Voldemort lost most of his powers a long time ago? He had a ton of followers before that, remember?" Hermione nodded and listened. "Well, okay—do you remember how after he lost to Harry, and a ton of his Death Eaters claimed that they'd been brainwashed into following him? A lot of them got off the hook because they said he had them under their power, remember?

"And you wonder if some of them were telling the truth? You think maybe Fred was brainwashed?" she filled in.

Ron nodded. "I know a lot of them, like the Malfoys, were just lying to get back in with Dumbledore so they wouldn't go to Azkaban, but what if Voldemort really did hypnotize some of them or something?"

They thought about this for a few minutes in silence. Ron actually started to wish that there was a Death Eater somewhere he could talk to, while Hermione wondered just how hypnotism would affect a person's personality.

"I know this seems very wrong…" started Hermione. "But Fred…even with the Dark Mark…he seems like, you know, _Fred_."

Ron blinked. "Were you even around this morning? Did I just totally I imagine the whole incest moment, because if I had, I'd be bloody happy about it."

"No, No. I know things are different," said Hermione, trying to be more careful with her words. "But other then when he's trying to get a rise out of us, don't tell me you're not a little surprised at how familiar his behaviorisms are."

Ron shrugged, defensive for his brother's sake. "I guess so. But maybe the Mark doesn't change a person like we think it does. Most of our examples were Slytherins, remember? They're not a very pleasant bunch to start off with. Maybe this is what happens when a Gryffindor gets it or something."

Hermione slowly nodded, but her mind was buzzing away. _Something is defiantly going on here._

"He's not even that threatening of a Death Eater," she said suddenly, enjoying the look of surprise on the snooping store owner before he hurried away.

"'Mione! How can you say that?" Ron hissed at her.

"I'm sorry, but it's been bothering me. Fred as a Death Eater is like none other that _we've_ encountered before. He's hardly violent, and he hasn't even tried to do anything to Harry when he's around him all the time. In fact, now that I think about it, it was weeks before we figured out what was going on--we were around him all the time, and the worse he did was disappear for days on end".

"Maybe he's just warming up," Ron spat. "Or possibly, he hasn't tried anything because we haven't given him a chance to yet." Ron's eyes narrowed. "And let's not, okay?"

"I know that, Ron. I wasn't suggesting we form a support group for him or anything, I was just saying his behavior's a bit curious. I think that's why it's been bothering us so much. I mean, don't you think it's odd that Fred doesn't even bicker with us? Think about how much dirt he has on us! He knows exactly what most of our buttons are, but he hasn't gone out of his way to push them. He--"

"What are you trying to say, Hermione?" Ron interrupted. She knew he was irritated by the way his freckles were standing out against his pale skin.

"I'm saying…" she thought about it. _What _am_ I saying?_ "I'm saying, we might have to deal with the possibility that this really is Fred—our Fred, the one who _couldn't _bring himself tohurt us, even if he_ is_ in allegiance with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Perhaps…perhaps he really did choose this, Ron.

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Molly was surprised when the doorknob didn't turn in her hand. _What? Still locked?_ she thought. _At noon? Why aren't we open yet?_ She fished her key out of her fuchsia raincoat and unlocked the door to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Everything in the store was still and quiet; the lights hadn't even been turned on yet. Dropping her things on the countertop, she was further surprised to see George asleep in the chair, his head bent over. _Awww…_she smiled, going over to him. In the process, she nearly stumbled over Harry. He had drug a comforter downstairs, and was sleeping soundly on the floor, using a couch cushion for a pillow. _What _is _this?_ She wondered, smiling to herself at the sight. _A slumber party?_ The idea nearly made her giggle, but she repressed the sound, not wishing to wake the two boys up. Setting her purse down next to the register, she started looking around for the rest of their group.

Standing near the stairs, she listened, but didn't hear any noise coming from the apartment overhead. _Huh…_Suddenly, she heard a muffled noise. Stranger yet, it seemed to be coming from downstairs. Molly's brow creased when she saw the basement door had been left open. _Maybe Fred's back from his last little outing._ She stood at the top of the stairs, but couldn't seen in the darkness. She couldn't call out without waking George and Harry, so she just walked down the steps.

By the time she reached the bottom, she could make out a figure sitting in a chair.

"_Fred_?" she asked, greatly surprised to find the red-head actually _tied _to the thing. He was squirming around when she walked up on him, but when he saw her, his eyes widened and he stopped.

"…Hey Molly," he said cautiously, looking at her a little peculiarly.

"Why isn't the shop opened up, Fred? And why in God's name are you down here tied up like this? What is going _on_ with you people? George and Harry are passed out upstairs, and don't even ask me where the other two monkeys are at the moment."

He smiled brightly, which relieved her a little.

"Oh…it's a long story," he tilted his head, looking casual. "George an' I were trying out an… experimental sleeping cream. We were joking around with Harry, wanting him to try it out, but he wouldn't…so I threatened to tie him up and force him to take it." He laughed, shaking his head. "They turned on me, the gits. One thing led to led to another, and here I am. But I think they got too much on themselves, if you're saying they're asleep right now. That would explain why no one's come to free me yet."

'Geez—you little kiddies," Molly said, smiling. "It's almost noon, you silly buggers." She pulled out her wand. "Let's get you free so we can go roust the sleepy heads."

"I'd appreciate it," Fred said.

She raised her wand, but then stopped. "Fred…" she began.

'Um…yea?" his eyes flitted back to the stairs.

"Let me just say that I'm glad to see that you're getting on with George again. I couldn't stand to see him when you were rowing before."

Fred nodded quickly in agreement.

"Okay, then…"she said. "_Alohomora!"_

The ropes loosened, and then fell loose around Fred's waist in a limp pool. He shuffled, and with Molly's help, removed all the coils.

"Er…Fred? Why did someone put a spell on these ropes? I could feel it give when I cast mine…" she asked, suddenly looking a little unnerved.

"_FRED_!" George's voice came loudly from the top of the stairs.

"Oh, George, you're finally awake," smiled Molly.

Harry bumped into George on the top step, and then pushed past him. He rushed down the stairs towards Fred, and then stopped dead in his tracks.

"_Damn it_—George! I've forgotten my wand upstairs!" Harry yelled, watching in dismay at Fred gingerly picked his own wand—the wand they had separated from him when they tied him up—from a nearby table top.

"What's going on?" asked Molly, now looking very concerned.

Fred smiled at Harry; wand raised, and proceeded to walk slowly past him. He reached the bottom of the stairs and started to ascend up them. Harry looked around, trying frantically to think of away to stop the red-headed Death Eater. _DAMN IT_ he thought, furious with himself.

Now the only thing blocking Fred from freedom was George, and George didn't look up to the task of stopping his own brother. Still, he had to try…pulling out his own wand, he raised it, yelling "_Expelliarmus_!" The half-hearted disarming spell whizzed by Fred's shoulder, harmless.

Fred's eyes narrowed. "George? Did you just attempt to put a spell on me? _On me_? Your own brother? Your own _twin?_ The one whose always protected you and guided you? The one you've grown up with and love? _Me_, George?"

George swallowed and finally, after a long pause, nodded. "You…you have to be stopped, Fred. You have to be stopped for your own good."

"Just checking," Fred retorted. "_Stupefy_!"

The charm was so strong it lifted George right off his feet, and he went sailing into the bookcase behind him. He hit hard, and when he fell to the floor, he didn't move. Molly cried out, now clearly terrified.

"Fred! _Fred!_" Harry called, but it was too late.

By the time he made it to the top of the stairs himself, Fred had already apparated himself far, far away.


	6. Two Faced Grin

_George blinked, feeling partially paralyzed. Where was he? All of his appendages felt wooly and distant, but he could clearly make out Fred's angry eyes hovering in front of him. Thankfully though, Fred wasn't directing the ugly look towards his brother. No, someone else was in the room with them... Suddenly, a deep, familiar voice chimed in: _

_"Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing up things for the Order." _

_Sirius? Here? Alive?? George twisted to his right—the motion felt like it took a long drawn-out time in this liquid state. But indeed, there stood Sirius. His hair was unkempt, and it appeared that he was lacking days of much-needed sleep, but it was indeed Harry's godfather. George tried to call out, but his vocal chords produced nothing in the heavy atmosphere. "You could seriously damage the Order's reputation..." Sirius continued, his lips moving angrily, but George could no longer make out any specific sounds. Looking back at Fred, he could see the lividness flash across his twin's face and watched as Fred balled up his fists in reply to whatever Sirius was saying. Suddenly, Fred's voice shot through the white space: "_We don't care about the dumb Order!_" he shouted. _

"_It's our dad you're talking about!" The third voice was strangely recognizable, and George realized it was his own. Then he could see himself standing at his brother's side, looking almost as aggravated. It was a very odd feeling, but the fuzzy state had him convinced that nearly anything was possible. Slowly casting his eyes back to Sirius, he heard the man's heated response long before he could re-focus:_

_"This is how it is—_this is why you're not in the Order_—you don't understand there are things worth dying for!"_

_Fred's lips drew back in response, teeth bared, looking extremely hateful. And then came the maniacal laughter that tore straight at the strings of George's heart. A laughter that wasn't from _that_ Fred, a Fred from days long ago in a very different time, but from the brother and twin he had become. The wretched sound was familiarly devastating, and George felt his lungs ache in a scream that the misty white world would not penetrate..._

"George! _George_! Stop it! Stop screaming!" a frantic voice soon matched a frantic face, and George felt his violent thrashing cease. Molly had him partially in her lap, cradling his head gently. Her whole face was creased with worry, and her cheeks were wet. Beside her, the trio had his arms and legs pinned in an ungraceful jumble.

"Oh—is he awake?" asked Ron, peering up from where he had pinned his brother's left arm.

"George—lie still, okay? Don't move. Just don't move yet. We can't tell how injured you are." Hermione's neurotic take-charge tone was actually a comforting noise, but of course, George ignored her. Struggling to sit up, he could hear her twittering angrily.

"'Mione, I doubt he's that badly crippled if he could throw us all about like that," Harry said, smiling down at George. As George felt his back muscles groan, and felt the mounds of disheveled books about him, he knew something was a little off. But it was Harry's weak smile sealed it: something very unpleasant had happened, and it had happened to him.

"What...?" he asked, feeling Molly's gentle arm slide around his waist for support. She, Hermione, and a Ron looked at Harry for an explanation. Harry looked annoyed that this chore fell to him, but he still answered the red-head:

"Well, mate...it seems that you were on the wrong end of Fred's stupefy spell. He wanted out of here pretty badly..."

"Fred wouldn't _ever_..." George stopped. His hands had come across something warm and wet as they rubbed the back of his head. _Oh no_.

George could tell by the other's faces that he was the last person to get the full story. That meant he had been out for a while. As his memory flooded back to him, George remained silent. The images, Harry's shouts, the wayward disarming spell, Fred's alarming smile...then a _thud_ and now this—_awaking to your pitying friends because they know you're all, _all_ alone, and the person you cared most about in the whole world did it to you_. George felt his shoulder's shrink.

"Is he gone?" he asked finally, dry-mouthed.

"Yeh...I'm really sorry, George," said Harry. With one look, George knew the Boy Who Lived had taken most of the blame onto himself. Like George hadn't been there, wand in hand, and had failed to do anything useful. And now his brother really _was_ gone--and he certainly wasn't coming back. If a Weasley twin had ever felt despair in his whole life, then this was that moment.

"I'm so sorry, George—I didn't know. I should have realized, but I had _no idea_..." began Molly, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. He could imagine it had been very traumatic for her, realizing so suddenly that Fred was, well ..._broken_, and being the one to have ignited his escape. George wanted so badly to speak kindly to her, to wrap her in words as comforting as her embrace, and to assure her she wasn't at fault in any way. _Don't worry. Everything will be fine. We'll all live happily ever after_. But like in the dream, George felt the words get caught in his throat.

"Look, I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news, but the longer we sit and gab, the farther Fred's getting away," said Ron, standing up.

"Your right," agreed Hermione briskly. "I'll get the floo powder." She headed for the shop's countertop.

This behavior baffled George, sinking groggily back onto the floor. "What are you...I mean, what _can_ be done?" he asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Hermione. "Were doing what we should have done ages ago—we're going to Dumbledore, and we're telling him _everything_."

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Dumbledore's mouth twitched. Harry had caught it, and it startled him much more then he had anticipated. _Well, what did I expect?_ he wondered. Hermione had been able to contact Dumbledore at his Hogwarts office through the fireplace, and after a few seconds of her frazzled expressions, he had agreed to meet them in the Black's old family house—the headquarters for the Order. Molly, still shaken, had decided to stay behind, watching as each of the four took a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the flames.

Although, before George could throw his pinch (he was up and about due to a few of Hermione's quick first aid charms), Molly had reached out to lovingly stroke his arm. When he looked, she smiled, and he felt himself automatically tug the corner's of his own mouth upwards in response. It was a grim attempt, but he was drained. With that being all he could muster, he had thrown the powder and disappeared, leaving her alone in an empty shop with only a broken book shelf to keep her company.

Upon meeting up with Dumbledore, they had found an empty room in the Order. Thankfully, most of the house's inhabitants were traveling elsewhere, or were otherwise too occupied to pay any little league wizards much mind. It was a lot busier of a place then any of them had remembered.

Dumbledore had shut the study door completely, turning and frowning in concern. He had turned to each of them, with all of them nodding in return except George, who was staring dully towards the window. Harry could tell that Dumbledore was well aware there was a problem, but could not pinpoint the cause of their anxiety. Brushing Fred's mocking tone from his mind, Harry decided to be the first to speak up. _His escape was my fault, after all. _

"Sir, we have a big problem," Harry had said, breaking the silence.

"Actually, we've_ had_ a big problem.--but we thought we could handle it without the Order's intervention," interjected Hermione, looking rather flustered. "Now we've lost him, and we realize how terribly stupid it was not to have come to you straight away. I'm _so_ _sorry_, professor." It sounded like a plea from the class pet, but one look at Hermione and anyone could tell she was being completely sincere.

Now Dumbledore was looking quite perplexed. When he spoke, his words were carefully chosen and spoken slowly: "It's quite alright, Miss Granger—there's no need for you to you fret too terribly. I can tell that there's a situation, but let me remind you that the Order is equipped to deal with almost any difficulty." His eyes glittered within the wrinkles and creases of the older wizard's brow. "Now then-- Harry, can you please identify the 'he' is that Miss Granger is speaking of?"

_Not me..._groaned Harry inwardly. "Professor Dumbledore...er...well, it's Fred."

"The strapping young Weasley twin? Didn't we go through this only a few weeks ago, what with him 'disappearing'? I believe it was George Weasley here that took credit for _that_ stunt, wasn't it?"

"That's just it, Professor," exclaimed Ron. "He really _was_ gone. He--" Ron scratched his head, trying to sum up the last few weeks in a sentence. The idea was exhausting, and rather then attempting it, he fell silent. It was George who finally spit it out:

"Fred's a Death Eater." He never looked up, eyes still cast to the window.

That was when Dumbledore's upper lip had twitched. Harry had been around the Headmaster enough to know his mannerisms, and this unrepressed sign of surprise was not only unusual to Harry, but it sent a chill down his entire spine.

"How can you be certain?" asked Dumbledore, his gentle voice now edged with something much more urgent.

"I saw the Dark Mark myself," George said, now staring hard into Dumbledore's eyes. Anyone watching could tell that the Headmaster was visibly shaken with the news. _Then again, who wouldn't be?_ thought Harry. Dumbledore lowered himself into a chair.

"So it begins..." he sighed.

"What do you mean, professor?" Hermione asked.

"I mean to say that Tom—Voldemort—is a very convincing wizard. That was how he rounded up his army so many years ago. I had expected converters, but this..." his brow wrinkled even further. "I have forgotten how alluring the promise of power and fortune is to certain members of the wizarding world."

"Yea, but _Fred_?" Ron asked, incredulous. "He's not like that. He can be a hard-headed, strong-willed prat sometimes, and he is fond of making galleons, but my brother would not turn to Voldemort to do it. I know him."

George made a soft noise that resembled a snort.

"Perhaps your correct, Mr. Weasley. But right now I need you to tell me how this happened. I need every element recounted so that we can move forward. Don't spare me any detail," Dumbledore said, and leaned forward as the trio began to tell the tale.

They started with Fred's first disappearance and didn't finish until they had arrived in the Headmaster's very office. They even shared their fear that Fred was involved with Lucius Malfoy's escape. All throughout, Dumbledore kept a stoic face. Harry and Hermione were the key speakers, with Ron interjecting his odd comments sporadically. George had flinched in memory several times during their description, but other then that he had kept to himself.

Hermione would glance at him, so uncomprehending of the turmoil and regret raging inside of the twin, that she didn't even try. _The most I can do now for him now is be clear-headed when he can't. _

Once the trio had finished their explanation, Dumbledore arose out of his seat. He moved past each of them until he reached George, who stared up at the wizard with clouded eyes.

"I _can_ imagine how you're feeling about now," said Dumbledore, slowly. His words reminded Harry greatly of a time not too long ago. Harry had reacted in anger then, but now George just shrugged. "When Tom was first gathering up his minions, we all felt a little betrayed by someone we knew, George," the wizard continued. "Sometimes we were surprised by the people we held dearest." His voice was warm and comforting, but George hardly blinked.

"But we're not saying Fred has turned!" Ron interrupted. "_Those _people might have—but isn't there any chance that Fred is under the power of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Ginny was, and that was just a few years ago!"

Dumbledore nodded at Ron, but turned back to George. "What do you think, George?" he asked quietly.

George looked up then, definitely surprised. It looked as if Dumbledore had read his mind; his eyes watered like he had been slapped in the face, and his usually faint freckles stood out like ink upon his paper-white complexion.

"I don't know!" he cried out suddenly. Dumbledore rested his hand on the twin's shoulder as he buried his head in his hands. "I don't know at all. I mean, Fred and I were alike in so many ways, but we also had out differences. Even mum always said Fred was like the fire and I was the wind, controlling which way his crazy flames leapt... And _I've_ always seen Fred as the leader-- running ahead like he does. But you know—I was always so sodding proud to think that I was right behind him, making sure he doesn't trip himself up. Now_ this_ has gone an' happened, and I don't know _what_ to think. Now I find myself doubting how well I really knew 'im at all. _It all just makes me ill_."

This outburst made Hermione and Harry very grateful that Dumbledore was there to intercede for them. But Ron stood up abruptly, his fists balled.

"Well I _do_ know Fred. He's_ my_ brother too, and I know he would_ never_ turn on Harry or the rest of us. He would have_ never_ hurt George on purpose, or call He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named his 'master'. He would never..." Ron trailed off, apparently too aggravated to continue. Hermione was mildly surprised_. I've forgotten how difficult this must be for Ron. He constantly knocks the twins, but out of all his brothers, they've always been the closest to him. Poor thing..._

"Yea, but Ron--" George replied, looking extremely anxious. "Fred would say these things..." he stopped suddenly.

Dumbledore gazed down at the twin and patted his shoulder in reassurance. "Please continue, George," he requested gently, even though it was apparent that the red-head didn't want to.

"It's just...Fred would sometimes become really angry with the Order," said George quietly. "I guess it was hard to tell, but after what happened to dad last year with the snake, he was furious for a long time about it. It was something I couldn't understand, but he was pretty bloody angry that it had "been allowed" to happen. He was angry with you a lot after that..." George mumbled, looking away from the aged wizard. "Sometimes he would say things about hating how weak the Order was...He hated being restricted from things, but we all know that was just Fred's way." He attempted a smile. "Do you remember how we blackmailed Ludo Bagman? I was against it, but Fred was always getting these ideas into his head. Recently, the ideas have been getting a little wilder and a little more dangerous...but of course, that's what everyone expects from Fred as he gets older..." His eyes took on a misty gleam. "Percy gave him something else to fume about, of course. We would talk about how our own Ministry was corrupted and ignorant...nothing groundbreaking. We're just able to see from ground level exactly how many stupid decisions have been made by the Ministry because we're so involved with everything—like them denying His return and all that bullocks..."

"Did Fred ever advocate Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked, devoid of emotion.

George's eyes widened. "What? You have to understand—Fred an' I used to tell each other _everything_. He would say _lots_ of crazy things...But I was who he could say em' to, and he wouldn't be judged, you know? It's not like he was a supporter--"

"George," interrupted the Headmaster. "Did Fred ever say anything about Voldemort that was positive? Did he ever sympathize with him? Did he _ever_ advocate him in _any way_?"

George's eyes closed and his lips tightened in anxiety. Finally, he breathed:

"...yeh...you could say...."

Ron was appalled—he couldn't even exchange a glance with Hermione and Harry. He just stood there, fists clenched.

Dumbledore immediately straightened up and smoothed the front his robes. Then, after a fitful silence, he spoke:

"Well then, there seems to be hope," he said.

"_What_?" asked George, shocked by what he had heard. He was expecting condemnation, not the word "hope" to come out from Dumbledore's mouth.

"Not right now, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore answered briskly. "It is time to act. You will go with Harry and contact the Burrow through the hearth in the next room. Tell your family that they need to report to headquarters immediately; I want to keep them far out of harm's way. Hermione, you and Ron go with me to the library. I'm going to need a little assistance finding the right spell."

"What?" asked Ron, clearly stupefied.

"Get on with it, Ron," snapped Hermione, standing up. Finding the right spell was her forte, and the business-like tone in the Headmaster's voice was invigorating. It gave her hope.

As requested, Harry and George made their way from the study to the next door. Harry had recognized the extra bedroom immediately due to an especially angry toadstool population he had cleaned out of it last summer-- but now was not the time for that. As Dumbledore had said, it was now time to act.

George was thankful he had been paired with Harry instead of Ron, but he still felt a mite funny after what had just been said next door. _Guilty is the word_. As Harry kneeled down next to the fire to prepare the connection to the Burrow, George leaned against the wall.

"You know, Harry...it's not like the way Dumbledore made it sound. You_ know_ Fred wasn't a supporter of You-Know-Who. What he would say...it was just talk. Speculation."

Harry glanced up at George briefly, a little snoot from the fireplace smeared on his nose. "Yea, I know that. And I'm not angry at either of you for speculating. It's hard for me to remember that others haven't been inches away from Voldemort before... not everyone knows the death an' evil that radiates off of him." Harry's wand's tip glowed as the fire started rippling with a magical light. "Things _are _a little bonkers in the Ministry right now...I can see how some people would be looking for answers in other places." Harry beckoned George to get beside him; the fire was ready. "Besides, George-- I know that you and Fred are true to the Order. Heck, I would have expected you to be _in_ the Order by now." Harry finished and leaned into the flames. As his torso disappeared, George grimaced.

"_This is how it is—this is why you're not in the Order—you don't understand there are things worth dying for!"_

With Sirius's voice in his ear, George followed after The Boy Who Lived.

Moments after Harry felt himself "land" in the Weasley's kitchen fire did he hear the familiar and boisterous voice of Mrs.Weasley.

"Harry! How good it is to see you!" she exclaimed in a gloriously cheerful tone. Harry felt superbly refreshed to hear a tone that wasn't full of dread, but then he remembered what he would have to tell the Weasley mother. _Damn._

"George!" she cried again as he appeared next to Harry in the fireplace. George couldn't help but be delighted to see his mother bustling about in her normal fashion—dishes cleaning themselves eagerly in the sink and the warm smell of roast saturating the small space. He was also glad to see anger didn't immediately cross her features when she saw him—they hadn't spoken since the Fred "prank".

"Why are you boys bothering with the fire for? You just floo yourselves down here in a hurry, alright?" She put her hands on her healthy-sized waist. "What with all my boys running about, I haven't ever seen The Burrow this empty. It's not right—I don't know _how_ to cook for less then nine."

Harry was very, very tempted. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Mrs. Weasley wouldn't let him have a word in edgewise.

"Now I don't mean to nag—I'm sure you all are having fun in Diagon Ally, but you need to tell Ron I have a bone to pick with him. We never agreed that he would be spending the night over with you, George—and I've only heard from him once in two days. You tell that boy to pick it up and come home today after work, alright?"

"Mum, we're not at the shop right now," interrupted George. "We're at Headquarters."

Mrs. Weasley looked at George, tapping her wooden spoon against her lip in thoughtfulness. She hesitated before asking:

"Why is that?"

_This is it,_ thought Harry, dreading this more then telling Dumbledore. _Her own son...how bloody awful can this get?_

"It's Fred," answered George. "There's something very wrong—but I can explain it all right now. Dumbledore says everyone could be in danger—he wants our whole family to floo here _now_. He said--"

"George Weasley!" interrupted his mother, apparently very angrily. "Don't you _dare_ start this with me again! I can't even _tell you_ how upset you made me last time you tried this. Your father was going out of his mind with worry!" Her eyes flashed. "And dragging Harry into it this time? _Horrible_! Obviously, you didn't learn your lesson at all--"

"_Mum!_ Stop—I'm serious this time! I was even serious last time—you have to get out of The Burrow right away--"

Harry saw that George was losing his creditability fast, and he also knew that they needed to hurry this up. Time was of the essence—and they didn't have much of it to waste. He wanted his surrogate family to be as safe as possible as soon as possible, so he stepped in:

"Mrs.Weasley—George is telling the truth. There really is something wrong with Fred. Please believe us."

She just looked down at their fiery faces with bewilderment and shook her head. "What are you two talking about? Fred's just fine."

"You don't understand--" began George. But he stopped short when Fred appeared in the kitchen.

He was laughing and carrying Ginny on piggyback. Being only a few years younger then the twins, she looked silly and lopsided on his back, but she was still clinging and giggling as he stumbled through the doorway. He bent down and she swooped up two hot rolls from the dinner tray; one went into her mouth and one she stuffed in his. His eyes twinkling, he didn't stop his extravagant hobble until he caught sight of the two faces in the fireplace. When he hesitated, Ginny slid down and peered around his slender frame.

"Harry? George?" she asked, still swallowing the piece of warm, buttered bread.

The identical expressions of astonishment must have been bizarre, perhaps even amusing to the casual observer, but to those fiery faces, it was nothing but horrific. Harry felt the cool taste of fear slide down his throat, remembering how quickly Fred had thrown his twin ten feet and into a bookcase.

George just blinked; seeing Fred behaving this normal—in the home that they grew up in together—made hope spring up inside him. Perhaps...Perhaps the Death Eater wasn't really Fred! Maybe Fred had just here the whole time! _Oh God...maybe the Death Eater was nothing but an imposter. Maybe_—

"See, there's nothing wrong with your brother. I'm furious you would even try to do something so soon after your last--" she droned on, but George and Harry had both stopped listening. They were too busy watching Fred. It was incredibly difficult to mentally match up the sneering-in-the-basement-Fred with this one, standing with one arm around Ginny and looking anything but dangerous.

But then Fred slowly lifted his right hand. His index finger went to his lips, his smile easing from sweet to toxic in one smooth second.

"_Shhhhhh_...." He mouthed, his teeth glinting viciously. The he gave Ginny's shoulders a gentle squeeze.

..._you don't understand there are things worth dying for..._

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_Greetings my most beloved. Sorry this chapter took an unprecedented amount of days to write—see, I write when I'm at work, and yesterday's closing time came before I was comfortable posting. Also, I think I'm having Slytherin withdrawals:) I'm so hardcore Slytherin, but no one can tell this but me... because everyone figures me a Hufflepuff. Which is probably why I'm so hard core (wouldn't you be??) But why oh why am I talking about this when the stingingly harsh cliffhanger of "Fred is on the loose!" looms over our very heads!? What will he do next, people? And what the fuck is Dumbledore up to? Does Fred still like Hermione, even as a potential psychopath? Only I know....so I haven't felt this powerful since I let my Harry figurine straddle my office laptop, daring anyone to say something about it. Glee... Anyways, I seriously do appreciate all of your feedback. I mean, I actually do a VERY REAL dance in my seat with every new comment. And when I get specific details...it's like an all out spasm. Dancing aside, your comments really do keep me writing. Thank you so very much._


	7. Double Negative

_Yea…this chapter took a long time to kick out of the womb. Much apologies...oh…and THANK YOU all my glorious little cherubs for your heavenly reviews, comments, helpful criticisms etc! I mean, it sounds cliché, but I was really flabbergasted with the wonderful response. I just adore you all right now so very, very much. And don't think I haven't followed your links back to your personal pages and stuck my nose in YOUR business__J__…because I have. Alllll of you (stalkerish much?) This episode is dedicated to Phelpsfan04, hydraspit, and Riley Alicia for various reasons, mostly including you made me smile and do my jig exaggeratedly with every review. _

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**_My name is Fred. And now Fred is free._**

George's mouth opened wide to shout, but Harry pulled him backwards with all his strength. Within a moment, they were sprawled on the bedroom floor in the Black's spare bedroom.

"George—_George_! Listen to me—we have to tell Dumbledore! The Order has to know! We have to tell him where Fred is!"

"_No!"_ George writhed away from Harry until he was sitting up, perched on his toes. "He's right there with Ginny and mum! _Right there_, Harry!" Fumbling for his wand and panting, George resembled a raging mad man.

**_I'm free because I have no boundaries. _**

Harry lunged for George, scrabbling with his cloak and yanking him back from the fireplace. "_Stop it_, George—you're only going to make it worse! If Fred thinks he's being threatened, who knows what he'll do? If he hasn't hurt anyone yet, there's a pretty good chance he won't—don't you see that? We need to tell Dumble--"

"That's my bloody family! Why is he at The Burrow anyway—_argh_!" George pushed Harry backwards and stumbled to get to his feet. "It's different when it's them! Fred can hurt me all he likes, but I won't let him get near Ginny an' mum. I can't believe he's pulling them into this—why is he--"

"_Expelliarmus_!" As Harry shouted, George's wand went whizzing out from his grasp and landed across the room. Even though Harry was lying on the ground, he had pulled out his wand from his jeans and was now angling it dangerously up towards the frantic twin.

**_When you have no boundaries, there's no time to think._**

"George—don't make me stun you," he breathed. "I care about your family almost as much as you do, okay? But rushing headlong through that fireplace is going to make The Burrow a _really _dangerous place. I don't know_ why_ Fred's gone home, but if we go in there, wands swinging, _someone_ is gonna get hurt. Fred is dangerous! And he definitely does_ not_ want to be rescued by us—he proved that when he blasted out of the basement. But now that we know where he's gone, Dumbledore has a much better chance of catching him then us. We need to _move_!"

George's eyes flashed; to be leaving his family so vulnerable made him feel furiously helpless. "Right—'cause he's done such a bloody fantastic job so far."

Harry chose not to comment, only regarding the twin impassively. "Come on. Let's go."

**_Of course, it's not like I did much thinking before I received the power anyway…_**

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Harry sprinted down the hallway, George close behind. He reached for the door handle to the library he knew Hermione, Ron, and Dumbledore were occupying. The door gave easily and he and the twin fell inside the dimly lit room. Ron was standing on a high stepladder, in the middle of handing down a book to a surprised looking Hermione. Dumbledore's eyes regarded the intruders from above a large tome he had perched in his lap.

"Fred's at The Burrow," Harry announced, breaking the heavy silence in a rushed voice. "We saw him in the background. The Weasley's don't know he's got the Mark."

**_He gave me the power before even I knew what was best for me._**

"_What_?!" Ron exclaimed, nearly tipping off the ladder as he turned to gawk.

"Oh my gosh…" Hermione's eyes grew distant, as though she were imagining the possible havoc Fred could be wreaking as they spoke.

"Dumbledore—we need to act _now_. Gather up some of the Order, and let's go get him," said George.

Dumbledore stroked his beard and focused his attention on the twin. George felt uncomfortable under the inquiring gaze but he didn't look away. Finally, Dumbledore cleared his throat and spoke: "Mr. Weasley, I'm a little surprised that you're this ready to turn your brother over to the Ministry this quickly. Are you really prepared to let Fred to face injuries, a sentence in Azkaban, or possibly death?" he asked.

George's mouth twisted into an unpleasant scowl. "_No_, I am _not_ prepared to do that—but Fred needs to be stopped long enough for us to figure out what's wrong. And I _cannot_ let You Know Who lay a hand on the rest of my family. _That's_ what I'm not prepared to do." George's voice dimmed, the vehemence in his tone thickening: "I will _never_ let _anyone_ hurt Fred_. Ever_." The forcefulness of his words surprised even himself.

The following silence was substantial, but Dumbledore eventually nodded in reply. "Brotherhood is the tightest bond in a time of war," he said, standing. "I'll let Miss Granger here fill you in while I go make some preparations." He winked at Hermione before apparating away with a familiar _bang_.

**_It swells inside. There's no other way to describe it. It pulsates against your skin from deep within your gooey, wet insides. There's just no way you can't release it when He asks. And when you do, every atom of your being vibrates with pleasure. It's no wonder they flocked to Him. No wonder they were drawn to him like dragons to the open sky._**

George's words had sounded more like a challenge to Hermione, but she didn't comment on it. Instead, she opened up a book and pointed to a few columns of murky text.

"Professor Dumbledore showed me something pretty amazing while you two were gone..." she shook her head. "It's incredible…all the research I did beforehand and I never found anything this hopeful…We should have gone to him immediately."

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"Okay…it's sort of difficult to explain…but I'll try." She looked at each of the three boys in turn, making sure she had their attention. "Dumbledore's books describe how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named created Death Eaters when he first came to power. As far as I can tell, there are three ways for Him to control wizards." She turned over a heavy page. "The first way, obviously, is when the wizards are ready and willing all by themselves. That's how he gets most of his followers."

"Like the Malfoys," Ron muttered.

"Right. Another way is mind-controlling a wizard into doing his bidding…according to this, it's the hardest way for him to maintain power, so it's used least of all." She leaned towards the book, nose wrinkled. "A possible victim of this was Barty Crouch's son."

"It reminds me of what happened to Ginny a few years back, with Tom Riddle," Harry murmured, remembering her fearful face as she accounted for black-outs and gaps in her memory.

"Exactly—but the third way was what Dumbledore _really_ wanted to show me," Hermione said in a louder voice. "The third kind of control You Know Who uses is actually a curse called the _Pensieve Personum_." Now she started to read directly from the moldy pages. "The _Pensieve Personum _is a level one curse which does not hinder the subject physically in any way. The curse is purely a mental trap designed for control." She stopped, so engrossed in what she was reading that George was ready to rip the book from her hands.

"What does it say?" he asked, barely able to control his temper. All he could think about was Fred squeezing Ginny's small shoulders.

"Oh…" she answered, slowly. "It works on the theory of a pensieve…Voldemort chooses a subject, and with this curse he's able to rearrange their thoughts."

**_I'll be honest—I've never felt this way before. And before, I thought I could do anything I could dream up. But I was wrong. I was in my own way._**

"Come again?" asked Ron, looking skeptical.

"If the person has any thoughts that appeal to You-Know-Who in _any_ way, Voldemort is able to "pull out" these thoughts to the surface, so that all the other factions of that person's brain are dimmed." She grasped for the right words. "It works like a colander—if Fred had _any _part in him that actually sympathized with You-Know-Who, then this curse would bring that and _only_ that part to the surface of his mind. The part of Fred that advocated Voldemort would be the only "voice" in Fred's head…it would consume him."

"So…that would explain why it took us so long to realize something was wrong with Fred," wondered Harry out loud. "Because he acts like himself—and he _is_ himself…but just one part of himself?"

Hermione nodded her approval. "Its like one piece in a puzzle taking over, throwing all the other pieces aside, and declaring itself completed."

Harry felt enthused hearing this news; a new hope had blossomed in his chest. If there was a curse, then that meant there had to be a counter-curse. George remained unreadable throughout, but Ron was clearly not happy.

"Wait. So, you're saying that for the _Pensieve Personum_ thingy to work, a part of Fred already had to be evil?" asked Ron.

"No—not evil," answered Hermione briskly. "Anyone who knew Fred knows he was not a fan of Voldemort. But…"

She didn't want to say it out loud, but everyone was already thinking about George's recent outburst in front of Dumbledore. If what George had said was true, then Fred _did_ have some doubts in the Ministry. Could he've been curious enough about You-Know-Who to make him eligible for the curse? George felt ill for even putting those ideas in their heads.

Ron stared at George and then back at Hermione. "Well I for one vote mind control," he declared brazenly. "I still stand by Fred, and I know he didn't have a You Know Who–loving thought in his head."

Hermione looked frustrated. "Look Ron, this is difficult for us all, but we have to be realistic! This is Voldemort's favorite way to create Death Eaters—it's easier then mind control, but they tend to be more loyal then the free-spirited one's." She huffed, "Obviously, I am _not_ an authority on a subject I've had twenty minutes to study up on, but if this is what Dumbledore assumes Fred's problem is, we probably should too."

George spoke up after minutes upon minutes of silence: "So…there's a solution?" His voice was small and scratchy.

Hermione nodded. "Even with our luck, yes. Or I assume that's what it is--this book gives an extensive description of a counter-spell. Of course, I'm not even sure if it's a full reversal." She shook her bushy head slowly. "All I know for sure is that it's not easy. In fact, I already _know_ I'm not going to be able to perform it without Professor Dumbledore guiding me every step of the way."

**_He took the voice out—the voice that tells you "no" or "wait" or "it's wrong." Imagine life without that persistent, whining voice. Imagine a life with no boundaries. Ever._**

Hermione's words were not very uplifting, but Harry still felt the weight of despair lift slowly off his chest. Now they had a mission, and The Boy Who Lived could work with a mission. "What do we need to do?" he asked.

"I'm pretty sure you're going to have to find Fred and subdue him. I mean, I haven't read up on the whole spell… I'm going to need more time, but it's not like we can really wait."

"Why not?" asked Ron. "No, wait, don't answer that. I _really_ don't want to know."

Hermione sighed. "It's a deteriorating curse. The longer Fred it under its control, the less likely we'll have of putting all of his "pieces" back together. That's another reason Voldemort fancies the spell so much."

"That's bloody great," murmured Harry. He looked around the room at his exhausted ensemble of underage wizards. "So…we should go to The Burrow, then?"

"No way. Wait for Dumbledore to get back," commanded Hermione firmly.

"We're running out of time," said George. His face was still unreadable.

"Just wait." Hermione said, putting down the book and folding her arms.

"You know—this is _sodding daft_, this is what this is," George snapped, his eyes now blazing up with something that resembled hurt. He violently opened the glass doors to the room's balcony and let them slam closed behind him.

**_With every passing day, more and more of those silenced "why's?" are being replaced with a resounding "why not?" _**

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George leaned forward, his forehead brushing the balcony's cool railing. He tucked his auburn hair behind his ears and looked up into the early morning sky. The premature sunlight had interrupted the misty grey clouds with streaks of burnt orange. George was so tired he could feel his body commanding him to relax; commanding him to let the balcony's damp floor be his momentary resting place. But George would not lie down. He just crouched, head leaning on the rail, with bursts of color greeting him whenever he closed his eyes. Yawning, he tried to focus. It had been weeks since he had gotten a decent nights sleep, what with worrying over Fred's numerous disappearances. And he hadn't slept a night since they had discovered that Fred was a Death Eater. _The last time you took a kip, you ended up being thrown into a bookshelf, _he reminded himself.

**_The power crashed down on me and my back arches to answer its demands. I am son to the Infinity of Possibility._**

So what was that? Going on forty-eight hours without more then an hour of shut eye? _It feels more like forty-eight days, _he thought upon realizing all of this drama had occurred in just over two nights. Two days of knowing Fred was completely cut off from him, and already George was losing his marbles. _Pathetic, _he thought, trying his best to shove back down the painful memories. He _had _to remain strong. Of course, this was easier said then done. Sliding down into a sitting position, George felt his face start to burn. It was so _hard_, being alone. It was devastating not having Fred there to ask him what was wrong, to make him laugh. The trio were all kind hearted, but the closeness he yearned for so desperately could only be found in one individual. Just one. _Where's Fred when I need him the most? _George thought suddenly, causing himself to chuckle dryly at the absurdity of the question. Then his head nodded, and with his chin resting on his chest, George's eyes closed.

He was up in the sky. Here in the sky, the streaks of light were still apparent on the murky clouds. Morning was breaking, but George didn't care.

"That was bloody brilliant!" he heard Fred say, and George turned to see his twin behind the steering wheel of their dads enchanted muggle car. He was laughing, his eyes glittering and wet in the terrible wind. George heard himself agree.

"Yea, but we need to get home before daybreak or mum'll definitely find out."

"Yea, yea. So, do you think that one muggle saw us?" Fred turned to his twin and winked.

"The one who screamed and pointed up into the sky at us? That muggle? Nah."

Fred snorted and reached over to pop his twin in the back of the head. George had flailed about in response, both of them cracking up until they had reached coughing fits. George finally stopped and sat back, watching his brother lazily, feeling the sun's early warmth and—

"_George_! Hey, George! Dumbledore's back," Ron interrupted, shaking his older brother's arm.

George jerked up, pulling himself to a shaky standing position. "Wha—oh, yea. Yea, ok." He felt his euphoria melt away as the rest of the remnants of the dream dissipated. He stumbled back inside of the room, seeing the rest of the trio, Dumbledore, and Severus Snape regarding him stonily.

**_My master loves me. That's what they never tell you. They don't want you to know what his love tastes like. What the power tastes like. To be in His favor is better then living. That's what they never tell you. They can't—they'd lose us all._**

"Er…" George muttered, glancing at the clock. He had only been outside for fifteen minutes. _So _what_ is Snape doing here? _

The Slytherin's heavy-lidded glare of impatience had not changed a bit. His dense black cloak was a normal sight as well, but he looked more disheveled then usual. His overall appearance was a little rougher around the edges then any of the young wizards were used to, but considering that he had pulled from his chambers so early in the morning, it was understandable. When he got his first glimpse of the twin, George could see his expression slip monetarily from annoyance to dark interest. George loathed to be looked at in that manner by Snape, and his return glare told the Potions Professor that much.

"I have asked Severus here to assist us," Dumbledore said, answering the twin's initial question. "I've already filled him in on matters, so we can begin immediately."

"What _is_ your plan, Professor?" Harry asked solemnly.

"Has Miss Granger filled you in on what curse I suspect Voldemort is using on Mr. Weasley?" Everyone nodded. "Well then, you know that I must stay here with Miss Granger to complete the counter-curse." He motioned towards Snape. "This is why I went to retrieve Severus. He'll be going with the rest of you to subdue Fred Weasley."

"Excuse _me_?" asked George, dumbfounded. "Professor—no offense, but I know that you're not thinking of leaving my family's safety in the hands of three teenage wizards and an ex Death Eater!"

**_So even with this freedom, I clamber when he calls._**

Dumbledore folded his hands over his beard with a stern look on his face. "Mr. Weasley, you came to me for my help, and now you're just going to have to trust me. I would never intentionally let any harm befall your family. I have looked at our situation from many angles, and this seems to be the least messy solution."

"You mean for the Order!" yelled George, losing the last snippet of his level-headedness.

"Don't you _dare_ speak to the Headmaster that way," hissed Snape, eyes flashing. "You owe everything to the Order. We can't have the Ministry on our tails this soon after they've realized The Dark Lord truly has returned. Your family has _ties_ to the Order that would--" He stopped short when Dumbledore raised his hand. The Headmaster tilted his head towards George, his bushy eyebrows creased in concern.

"Mr. Weasley, I know that this has been a terribly difficult situation for you. But you need to remember that Severus and I have had the unfortunate business of dealing with several situations very akin to this one," Dumbledore said gently. "It's true that we want to avoid wide-spread panic, but we also know, by experience, that the better concealed our operations are, the better our chances are of succeeding." He nodded. "I have a lot of faith in Harry, as in you. I truly believe we can get your brother back in one piece."

**_Everything is sweeter…they never tell you that either. I can't stand but to laugh…to tip back by neck and let this power-love radiate in the trembles of my spine so that I can gnash it back down with my sharp teeth._**

_One piece… _George looked away to avoid showing the emotion these words ignited. Finally, he nodded.

"Then why don't _you_ go with us to retrieve Fred and let Professor Snape stay behind to do the reversing spell?" Harry asked Dumbledore. Snape glowered at this second attempt to undermine Dumbledore's authority, but the Headmaster answered before he could say anything about it:

"I am needed here, Harry. Besides, I chose Severus in this situation for his…unique understanding of the predicament." Dumbledore, apparently satisfied with his answer, waved his hands in their direction. "Now then, you need to be on your way. We're wasting time and Miss Granger and I have quite a lot of work to do." Hermione nodded when mentioned, standing at attention for her orders.

Snape scowled at Ron, Harry, and George. He didn't seem to be exceedingly thrilled with the situation either. _But then again, is he ever? _wondered Harry.

**_If I have eaten death, so be it._**

The four of them trudged back to the guest bedroom and Snape started handing out pinches of floo powder. H eyed each of them warily while holding out his long fingers in offering. Harry accepted his pinch, staring at the magical substance with mounting apprehension. He prayed desperately that the Weasley's had not been harmed in the long interim, and blocked out visions of their lifeless bodies from his mind. _I don't know if I can live with myself if any one of them is hurt…_I'm_ the one who told George to wait. I just couldn't live with it…but Fred couldn't have…he just wouldn't…_

****

**_I am son to Him Who Cannot Be Killed._**

Ron took his pinch, avoiding eye contact with Snape and shuffling uncomfortably. He knew his best mate would soon be in his prime surroundings, but Ron just couldn't feed into the excitement. His stomach felt queasy and his hands were shaking. _And now I've got greasy hook-beak glaring over my shoulder, just bloody great. I just hope mum's okay…nah, she'll be well enough to box my ears for not calling for two nights. An' soon this'll all be over, and Fred'll be back with George…Fred and George—back to normal. We just need to break the damned mind control…_As Ron continued on with his inside nattering, George reached out for his own powder. Snape regarded the twin with inquisitive contempt, trying to fathom just how in the_ world_ one of the foolish Weasley's had appealed to the Dark Lord. George glared back with equal scorn, his upper lip curling in the process. The Potion's Professor was minutely surprised by the level of animosity radiating from the red-head, and quickly returned to the hearth.

**_By His love, I will live on._**

George felt the grasp on his wand tighten. He was ready—he wasn't sure what for, but was ready as hell for it. He knew that in the next minute, he would be smack in the midst of something frightening. The tension caused by this revelation left a burning sensation running down from his throat to his crotch. He struggled to think clearly in the mist of this trauma, but a part of his mind had already collapsed. He wasn't sure if he could ever force a smile onto his face again. _If their dead…_his hand clenched involuntarily on his wand. _I won't…I cant…_He watched Snape disappear into the flames. Harry followed suit immediately. Ron glanced back at his older brother with a sad smile on his face before he too threw down the floo powder and disappeared. _If any of them get hurt…Fred or mum or Ginny…_George stepped forward, feeling the heat radiate against his pale skin. He dashed his powder against the flames, commanded to be taken to the Burrow, and felt the beginning suction of the magic take effect. He scanned the room as it faded from view. _Then God help them. _He closed his eyes. _God help The Order._

**_My name is Fred. And now Fred is free._**

****

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_Fuckin yee haw. All I can say is, with this much yakking, the next episode is gonna be like…more action then you can spit at from a moving vehicle…and I don't know where my metaphors are going. Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed Fred's little ramble there…I want to get inside the mind of a Death Eater ("what in the world keeps them loyal? Must be somethin…somethin good") as well as relay the series of events. George is rebounding a lot more then I thought he would...he's not as charismatic as Fred, but he's still a twin. I guess they'd both react aggressively if put under this much stress. I've missed Fred! He's my favorite twin, and somehow I've written a story focusing on the twin I DON'T get. It's been a challenge to get inside George's mind. Anywho, I drew this picture of me giving Fred a piggy back ride, and he's wearing a tee that says "Dark Mark Baby." I put in next to the computer and it gets me through the hard times…hah. You guys are the greatest…geez, you so ARE. Please tell me what you like and dislike about anything—I absorb like a sponge and yearn to please. You people are THE new black, I so mean it._


	8. One Down, One to Go

The hands on the Weasley clock labeled "Ron" and "George" quickly traveled across the timepiece; they drifted past "late" and past "mortal danger" until finally settling on "home". Severus Snape exchanged stony looks with his three companions, signaling for them to be silent and pointed at the clock.

Fred's "hand" was also resting on "home". The Death Eater was very close. Harry, with his wand raised, nodded, and took a long good look around. The silence that hung in the air was all-encompassing. He wasn't even sure that, _if _he chose to speak, any sound would penetrate the heavy stillness.

The kitchen looked_ exactly_ how he and George had left it just half an hour ago. Noticing the untouched ham resting atop the counter and the partially-opened oven, he wondered if it was a little _too_ similar. If Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had been in this very kitchen preparing an early lunch just a few minutes ago, so where were they now? Now there was simply a hush—and no sign of anyone. Even the familiar noises produced by Burrow were stilled: no strange whistles or the bustling of muggle contraptions, no laughing, and not even the familiar shrieks of Pigwideon.

Ron stooped down to pick up a large shard to a bowl that was busted wide open on the ground. He regarded the piece with wide, apprehensive eyes, and showed the group. George nodded and took another step to match Harry's pace. The Boy Who Lived was taking his time looking at everything—his eyes were systematically following the trail of Weasley clutter for clues. _Where are they?_

The only wizard without his heart in his throat was Snape; his heavy coat ruffled as he reached out and grabbed Harry's shirt, yanking him backwards. Harry spun around and glared at the potions professor, but Snape just snarled, silently reprimanding the boy for taking the lead. Once Harry had nodded in brief submission, Snape carefully edged into the next room, the boys following quickly behind.

"Blimey!" Ron squeaked as he rounded the corner. Fred was lounging at the dining room table, his chair pushed far back and his feet resting on the table-top itself. He regarded the wizards with a serene, if not pleasantly surprised, smile on his face.

"Hey gang," he greeted them, giving a little half wave. His wand was tucked behind his ear and his robes were different. No longer was Fred wearing the shabby hand-me-downs guaranteed by the Weasley life-style—no, now he donned a beautiful ankle-length robe with a raised collar. Underneath the blood-colored garment peeked a sharp white shirt and dark slacks. Although it was just another break away from the Fred they all remembered, the ensemble did suit the twin. Not that this was the time to be thinking about fashion.

Harry leveled his wand, breaking the silence with his clear, objective voice: "Where do you have Ginny and Mrs.Weasley?"

Snape, annoyed by Harry's ongoing tendency to take charge, elbowed past the young wizard, his own wand at the ready. Staring at Fred's complacent expression, his mild curiosity aimed now at Snape, the professor felt his own pulse quicken. This was just a little too close to home. Should he stupefy the brat right then and there? But what about the rest of the Weasels? Dumbledore would certainly be angry if they weren't retrieved…

Fred didn't even go for his wand. He stretched his arms, causing everyone to flinch, and then rolled his eyes. "You might as well put down your wands," he commented offhandedly. "I mean, you must know I'm not daft enough to wait around for you without having a trick up my sleeve."

"Shut your mouth and stand up slowly," commanded Snape, unconsciously drawing up his height for the full effect. "We are taking you back to the Order of the Phoenix." When Fredremained seated, Snape barked: "Get_ up_!"

Fred looked past the threatening professor. "Why did you bring 'im?" he asked Ron, George, and Harry. "All of you I absolutely _adore_, but this traitor? He's half as bad as Umbridge."

"Fred…" George's finally spoke up, his voice low and ragged. "Did you hurt them?" Fred glanced at his twin, who was leaning on the door frame; it appeared as if he was standing there for the support.

"I swear to God, George--if you break down into a gibbering wreck once a-bloody-gain, I just might have to, wont I?" laughed Fred.

"Wait—so mum an' Ginny are alright?" asked Ron suddenly. His pure and utter belief that this was all mind control was apparently giving him unparalleled strength when confronting his brother. Everyone else would momentarily lose focus, but not Ron. He just _knew_ this was all Voldemort's doing, and this afforded him the will power to stay on track.

Fred tilted his head in the familiar way he does. "Of course, you ninny." This would have been comforting if it was not quickly followed by "What good would they do me then?"

This was not going the direction Snape had planned at all. _What was Albus thinking? These damned brats are just getting in the way._

__"Fred Weasley, I _command_ you to throw down your wand and surrender to the Order of the Phoenix _immediately_. Before any further actions are to be taken, you_ will_ be escorted back to headquarters," Snape said, his voice firm and cruel—a second-nature sound to every wizard present.

"No—it's _you_ that doesn't understand, _Severus_," growled Fred in a very different tone then he had been using up to this point. He stood up now, his hands spread-eagle on the dining table and sheer determination etched in his features. "This is not a game anymore. It was, briefly--but now it's over, Severus, an'_ I_ won. I'm sorry you weren't there to play, but they definitely were," he pointed at Harry, Ron, and George. "And I won. So now it's time to listen to what Fred has to say, righty-o?"

"_Expelliar--" _Snape began suddenly.

"_Enervate_!" Fred yelled, nulling the professor's spell. Before Snape could begin another, Fred bellowed: "_Do you want them to be slaughtered_?_" _Harry could see Snape hesitate, trying to sort out his options. "Because if you do, you'll try another spell. Just try it. _He_ willknow." Fred glared at the four of them as they stood frozen and unsure.

"Please don't let them get hurt, Fred," George uttered.

"It's not up to me anymore."

Snape was growing more livid by the moment. He was visibly losing his calm composure. "Where do you think you can go, you imbecile?" He growled. "There are four of us and one of you, and as I recall," he sneered condescendingly, "you're no great wizard."

"I don't have to be," Fred answered, pulling up his sleeve and lowering his arm so that he could bare the mark to everyone in the room. To look at its curling darkness was almost as revolting as it had been the first time. It was so very…_permanent_. Harry saw Snape flinch, even though Harry knew Dumbledore had already told the professor about the mark. "To catch you up to speed, Severus, I am very, _very_ serious right now. And you do not want to test me." Fred didn't bother pulling his sleeve back down, but took his seat again, apparently satisfied with himself.

Snape's wand quivered, but he didn't say anything in response; however, his lips were still poised as if he was on the verge of saying something, and then, when he couldn't find the right words, he'd stop. Harry knew that under Snape's own sleeve was an identical mark, and that's when Harry realized the _real_ reason Dumbledore had sent Snape along out of all the Order members. A heavy pause lingered the past and present Death Eaters.

"Weasley…The Dark Lord…you know you can't--" Snape finally started, for once looking unsure of himself.

"Spare me." Fred drawled. "You know that you're a dead mean walking, Severus. But even as such, you know that any-_any_-spell that is placed on me, my master will know about it because of this mark," He smiled and tapped the side of his nose. "But I've never had a way with words, so let me be blunt. If you want the little lambs to live, you'll let _me_ live. I am your only key to getting them back, alright?"

"Where are they?" Harry asked again.

"Currently dear old mum and sis are residing in my master's luxurious estate," he winked. "Don't worry—I know he'll see to their every need."

"So what's all this about? What do you want?" Ron asked loudly.

"Ten points for Gryffindor!" Fred exclaimed. "Ickle Ronnikins has hit the nail on the head, hasn't he? What does zany Fred want now? Well, for starters, you can take me straight to the headquarters of the Dumbledore regime, just as you wanted to do in the first place. I need to have a wee chat with Dumbledore."

"You're the Dark Lord's emissary," Snape stated, not asked.

Fred chortled. "It's a perk of being the favorite, don't you know. Little ol' Fred getting to have all the fun. But you would know all about that, wouldn't you, popins?"

Snape's lip curled. Abhorrence radiated off of the grim potions master in waves.

"How do we know that You-Know-Who won't k…kill mum n' Ginny whenever he feels like it?" Ron asked.

"How do we know their not already dead?" Harry softly interjected.

"I think it's funnier if you don't. But let's not play these games. You don't have any other options at the moment, and we know it. And your letting me get bored. So let's go." He stood up, tucking his wand back behind his ear and smoothing down the front of his crimson robes. He looked expectantly at the shaken group.

Harry, for the first time, had a strong urge to hex Fred's face bloody. This sudden loathing was a product of being pushed to far, too often; and now, even if he knew Fred was under a curse, Harry couldn't help but feel very real anger towards this person he once regarded his friend. Ron tried to swallow this request without allowing a chink to be made in his armor, but it was getting more difficult by the moment. And George…well, who knew what George was thinking. His face was expressionless, which was probably the worse possible sign at a time like this.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Eventually, after the stare-down between Snape and Fred waned, Snape had left the room to contact Dumbledore through the fireplace, leaving the boys alone with the Death Eater. Fred had relaxed considerably once Snape left the room, even going as far as asking George how the Wheeze's business was doing. It was normal and frightening, so no one bothered to answer him, gazing off elsewhere in a weary fashion.

Snape probably had to sort out quite a few frantic Order members on the other end of the fireplace, so it was no wonder he was taking so long. Harry felt _terrible_ that he had allowed this mess to happen, but he couldn't think of how this situation could have been handled differently. Voldemort was being more bold then usual in his actions, and Harry had an uneasy feeling that Fred had something to do with that.

Fred, looking restless, finally sat up and tried to catch someone's eye.

"Okay then…how's 'Mione doing?"

"_Shuttup_!" snapped Harry. "If you're going to be a bloody Death Eater, at least be a _quiet_ one! We've never had to listen to Lestrange of Malfoy prattle on like this. No one wants to hear any of your shite, Fred."

"What do you care about Hermione now, anyway?" Ron asked heatedly.

"Stop being so touchy you li'l prats," Fred answered, his grin broadened. Harry felt sick to his stomach when he realized that Fred was actually _enjoying_ this. "Besides, why_ can't_ I care about how she's doing? Just because I've joined the Dark Lord doesn't mean I'm not the same me."

Harry's eyes flashed. "Do you even_ realize_ that you're blackmailing the Order with your _own family_?"

"Tsk tsk, Harry. If The Dark Lord gets what he wants, there's no reason for them to get hurt. Don't fret over it." Ignoring Harry's violently skeptical snort, Fred added, "Besides, she probably misses me."

George opened his dry mouth to say something, but Ron was too fast for him: "What the bloody hell does that mean?"

Fred raised a delicate eyebrow. "She never mentioned us to you?"

"Wha—what?" Ron sputtered. "What codswallop is this?" He looked from Harry to George. Harry looked like he couldn't care less at the moment, but he also shrugged to show he didn't know anything about it. George gave a little nod, conceding that Fred was telling the truth.

"It wasn't a big deal, Ron. I was just wondering how she was." Fred shrugged as well. George could tell his twin was already tiring of the subject, but the idea his twin could converse so ordinarily was tremendously disconcerting. It would have been much easier for everyone if Fred just shot them murderous glances and spoke in parsletongue.

"I don't believe a word of it," Ron grumbled finally, clamping his lips shut and looking surly.

Fred tried to exchange a 'what's his problem?' look with George, but George wretched his eyes away. Every part of him wanted to clamber to Fred's side and laugh with him, but he knew what a travesty that would be. Nevertheless, it felt terribly good to have Fred even look at him with recognition in his eyes.

Snape re-entered the room. "Get up," he snarled at Fred. "Professor Dumbledore is waiting to speak to you."

"Fabulous!" Fred stood up briskly and headed for the door. Harry and Ron were careful not to let their guard down; Fred might be looking for a sit-down with the Order, but that doesn't mean Voldemort's minions were ever to be trusted.

Right before he headed under the doorway, Fred looked over his shoulder. Harry followed his puzzled expression to see George, still leaning against the wall. Fred stepped towards his twin. "George…" he began, but George's knees buckled before he could get any more out. George's eyes closed, blurry and wet, and after he had slumped to the floor, he didn't move.

"He passed out. The poor bloke's exhausted," Fred said as Ron and Harry rushed to his twin's side.

Snape looked overly-exasperated and gave everyone in the room a good glowering at. Commanding Harry and Ron to pick up the unconscious Weasley, Snape lead them all into the next room, where they all took turns flooing back to the Headquarter of the Phoenix.

It was going to be a long day.


	9. Turning the Tables

_Am I still dreaming? _George wondered as he opened his eyes. _No…_He realized he was slowly waking up, even as the cobwebs still clung to the corners of his mind. His dreams had been nothing but jumbles of light and sound; nothing he would miss. Even so, the dream state was not letting him go without a fight, and George found it difficult to say goodbye.

Although, upon retracing his steps, George found he didn't remember falling asleep…and he was certainly not in his bed. As he slowly came to, George dimly realized he was sitting upright on a sofa. The scratchy cloth rubbing against his arms was his first sensation upon opening his eyes. And he was freezing. His ears and nose were chilled numb, and his whole left side had risen up its tiny hairs, armed with goose pimples against the cold. But his right side…it was warm.

Creaking open his eyelids a sliver more, George could make out Fred's sleeping form. His twin had evidently fallen asleep on this same couch, collapsed against his brother so that their sides had been pressed together long enough to produce a warm cushion of air. Fred's chin was delicately tucked into George's shoulder, his auburn hair tickling his brother's chin. His hands were twitching restlessly in his lap, like quivering birds. The comforting rhythm of Fred's breathing was so systematic that George had to tear his mind away from the steady beat in order to focus. _Is this a dream…?_ It took George a moment to fully realize why this closeness felt so wonderful. _Because Fred hasn't wanted to be close to you in so long…_George swallowed. _Why was that? _Although he felt a strong desire to remain ignorantly blissful, the day's events came trickling back into his mind nonetheless.

A long, defeated sigh rolled out from George's lungs, stirring his twin's hair. Fred shuffled, nuzzling his face deeper into the curve of his twin's neck, and George got a glimpse of the mark on Fred's exposed arm. It radiated like simmering oil upon the forearm of this dozing angel…it was unnervingly wicked and alive on someone so asleep. George regarded it quietly, for once allowing the marred skin to share his brother with him. _So tired…can't bring myself to care…_He knew he _had_ to care—he _needed_ to care--there was no other way around it—but if he could sit in this bliss for just a little while longer…George gingerly traced the mark with his fingertips before realizing someone was watching them from the doorway. He looked up and saw Snape regarding them with a look of mild amusement on his face.

"The moment you accept it as "alright" is the moment that He will strike," Snape said in an uncharacteristically placid voice.

"_What_?" George asked, a chill running down to his toes. _How did he…_

But then Hermione stomped into the room, followed by a reddening Ron.

What do y-you mean, 'Just a fling?' Hermione, what were you_ thinking_? How c-could you?" Ron was blathering, his face taut with stress.

"_How could I_? How could I what? Have a normal relationship? Why is it so hard to believe that_ I_ could have a normal relationship? Please Ron—get off my back about it for _goddsakes_. You're driving me completely batty," "Hermione saw George and her angry rant stopped short, her voice softening to a whisper: "Oh—_George_. It's good to see you awake. Tonks said it was just exhaustion, but still...." She finally noticed Fred slumbering peacefully beside George, and she blinked, her lips twisting in momentary sadness. _She's hiding it so well. _

"_No_--in normal relationships you tell other people, alright?" Ron hadn't dropped it yet. "You _don't_ keep it a secret like yer some kinda criminal."

"This is why we never mentioned it, okay, Ron? I didn't want it to blow into some huge deal like the one your making. "

"That's because it _is_ a big deal—it's my own bloody brother, and you never told me an' Harry. An' were supposed to be best friends an' everything!"

"But you don't see Harry reacting like a Northern Banshee, do you?"

"That's different! Harry doesn't think like…he never…" Ron broke off his muttering, turning light scarlet.

"Well, now you both know," Hermione answered. "But it doesn't even matter anymore, does it?

Fred growled, his throat giving off light vibrations from where it touched George's skin. "It doesn't?" he asked, not bothering to sit up. "I'm disappointed in you, 'Mion."

Ron jumped, and Hermione tightened her lips. They had both disregarded the latent Death Eater.

"I thought he was still out…" Ron mumbled.

"How could I sleep with all this bloody racket right over my head, especially when it's about me?" Fred asked; his breath was warm against George's frigid neck.

"Whatever…thisisn't about you."

"Oh, I think I'm _definitely_ who this is about. In fact, it's about me and Hermione—but that's what has you so upset, isn't it, ickle Ronniekins? You can't stand being so uninvolved that you didn't even know about us--"

"Just shut your hole," snapped Ron, the scarlet now creeping up his ears.

"And Hermione," Fred drawled, apparently bored with his little brother for the time being. "Why are you breaking up with me? I don't think that's very fair."

George could hear Hermione snort from where he was perched on the couch. "Fred. You're working for You-Know-Who, in case you've forgotten."

"And you were always the one complaining about wizards being biased…"

"Against werewolves and house elves, not full-blown Death Eaters!"'

"Oh…but you'd date a Death Eater."

"I would not!"

"Oh…so, you'd just snog one," Fred smiled. Now it was Hermione's turn to turn red.

"I _said_, shut your hole," Ron interjected, visibly angry.

"I wouldn't snog…" Hermione answered with a little less conviction. She looked a little muddled, as if she were attempting a hard maths problem in her

head. In reality, she was trying to sort out the days she and Fred had been together in relation to Fred's little 'outings'. He was bringing up a doubt she had established in her mind early on, and it made her feel sick to her stomach, especially when he winked at her and grinned.

"_Shuttup_!" Ron shouted once again, and he lunged at Fred, who was still curled up on the couch. Fred didn't even blink; it was George who stopped his little brother, grabbing Ron by his shabby cloak and pushing him backwards.

George would later realize that this was the best possible move. Fred was a beacon straight to Voldemort, and any harm that came to the twin would have alerted You-Know-Who immediately, causing the Weasley girls to be put in jeopardy. But that's _not_ what George had been thinking at the time. No, his instinctive reaction to protect Fred was as natural as breathing, and everyone knew it. And it scared them all just a little, especially George. _A little kindness on Fred's part and I become a bleeding liability_, George thought, looking down. Fred chuckled and pecked George's neck before standing up.

"Hold it right there," Snape interrupted from the doorway. He looked thoroughly disgusted with their little drama, and George couldn't blame him in the least. "Fred Weasley, I'm here to escort you to your room," he sneered and jerked his head towards the door.

Fred's faced snapped back into his second-nature 'serious' mode. "My master is not going to be pleased if I'm confined. I told you that right off."

Snape's upper lip twitched. "The Order is well aware of the situation. But we cannot have you gallivanting around the halls of our headquarters either."

"Why not?" Fred laughed. "I helped clean this dump out—me an' George know it better an' anybody."

"Even so." Snape's eyes flashed.

"Fine. But don't expect me to stay in there too long. I have business I have to attend to."

"Again, the Order is aware of such." Snape looked livid, even though his voice was monotone. Hermione had the feeling Snape was under strict orders from Dumbledore to mind his manners.

Fred started to follow the professor out into the hallway, courteously nodding at Hermione as he did so. The three of them could hear him still talking as he got farther and farther away: "…lots of business. In fact, I think Bellatrix wanted me over for tea sometime today…"

"I wanna flatten 'im," mumbled Ron when they could no longer hear anything.

"Even though you think he's brain washed?" Hermione asked, still a little pink around the edges.

Ron considered it for a moment. "Yea, even so."

George looked between the two of them, and couldn't help to miss his twin already. It's as if his 'antennae' perked up as he left, buzzing George's brain and asking why he wasn't following. And now the chill was thick and unforgiving against him. _So cold…_ "Why is it freezing in here?" he asked, rubbing his arms aggressively.

"We had Dementors popping by here earlier," Ron answered.

"_What_?" George leapt up, completely forgetting his numbed arms and legs.

"Calm down, they've all gone," Hermione added. "They were looking for Lucius Malfoy, of course. His escape is all in the papers."

"Besides, Dumbledore hasnt give up any information yet,"sniffed Ron. "He doesn't approve of the Ministry usin' em' anyways."

"But we're going to have to approach the Ministry sooner or later to fulfill Fred's demands," Hermione nodded.

"Fred's demands?" George blinked. "He's already made his demands? How long have I been asleep?"

"Just a few hours, mate."

"Where's Harry?"

Hermione and Ron looked at each other.

"I think you need to tell me what's happened," George sighed.

So they did. They told him about being received by a dozen members in the Order when Snape, the trio, Fred, and an unconscious George had flooed to headquarters. They told him about how frightening the experience was, how sick they felt to be greeted by so many hardened faces and unsheathed wands. A real taste of history. They told him how Fred had stepped forward, demanding to meet with Dumbledore, and how he had been shot murderous glances from the crowd. Snape had to step between Fred and the wizards to protect him, because the twin's mark was showing and he was sneering at the Order members. These were the people Fred had eaten meals with, had played with, and had laughed with.

Eventually, in response to their angry heckling, Fred had said something pro-Voldemort, and someone had tried to hex the red-head. Luckily Snape countered it, but this didn't stop Fred from shouting about the Weasley girls being held hostage, and the mood had quickly turned violent. Fortunately, Dumbledore had stepped in at that point, pulling their group into his office and shutting the door.

There, Fred had quickly laid out his demands to Dumbledore, Moody, Tonks, Lupin, and a few other select wizards. Soon afterwards, the trio were remembered and ushered out of the room—but not before they had heard what Voldemort was after in exchange for the lives of Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. He wanted four more of the Death Eaters in Azkaban to be released; every name on the list was recognizable from the deadly skirmish that had resulted in Sirius's death last year. The stony-faced Order members argued that four in exchange for two of their own was simply not fair, and Fred had just laughed the chilling way that has become his habit.

"It was pretty terrible," Hermione muttered. "Tonks's eyes were all red, and she looked about ready to cry. She's one of the few of them who haven't seen this sort of thing before, and even though she didn't break down over it, you could tell it really affected her…"

"Anyways, then Fred said the thing about Harry…"added Ron, looking pale.

"What thing about Harry?" George asked.

"Voldemort obviously doesn't trust Harry not to do the heroic thing, as Fred said, and so he wanted Harry to leave."

"Leave where?"

"Isn't it obvious? The only place Harry can go where he's away from the Order and still safe: Pivot Drive."

"Crikey!" George couldn't imagine how Harry must be feeling right now…so left out, confused, worried. "So what happened then?"

"Well, Harry willingly agreed to go back to the Dursleys. He said he guess he should be grateful that You-Know-Who didn't want him to leap off the nearest cliff, because to save Mrs.Weasley and Ginny, he probably would have," Ron answered.

"Right. Then Fred gave that awful grin and said "first things first" or something like that. It was dreadful," Hermione added.

George rubbed his eyes and thought shamefully about how he had slept so contentedly alongside ehis brother. _Think George, think. _

"So that's it? You-Know-Who is going to get five Death Eaters in exchange for a promise he won't hurt my family? That's how it's going down?"

"its bullocks, I know," agreed Ron forcefully.

George found it difficult to regain his thoughts, but when he could finally focus, he realized there was something missing in this equation. _In all this insanity…I thought there was something…I'm missing a piece…Oh! _

He lowered his voice considerably before asking: "What about the reversing spell? Whatever happened with that?"

Hermione and Ron glanced at one another before turning back to the twin.

Slowly, they smiled.


	10. Sunrise, Sunset

"_Don't touch me!" _Fred was screaming, his lips stretched wide in a vicious, open-mouthed snarl; his eyes were rolling and flashing like a madman's, and the blood trickling down from his forehead and busted lip take away from this mental image.

"_Do not fucking_ _touch_!" His voice was not even recognizable as Fred's anymore; the cry was so unfathomably frantic and desperate, chills ran up and down George's spine.

Meanwhile, the Death Eater thrashed.

"George! Hurry it up!" Tonks yelled over the continuing shrieks.

"George!" This time it was much more urgent, more concerned; but the room was spinning too fast for George to make out the speaker.

Fred was flailing his arms and legs like he was having an intense seizure; the Order members were clinging to him, trying, with some difficulty, to keep the red-head weighted down. Fred's right arm was freed momentarily before Mad-Eye threw his weight on top of it.

"George! For Merlin's sake, do it now!"

George could hear all these voices spiraling in his head; he could see the chaos escalating to a peak, gradually, as if in slow motion.

"Quickly someone grab him—yes, get the boy—wake him! Hurry!" Dumbledore's commanding voice rose over the rest of the din. The large tome in his hands trembled as the Headmaster embraced it, overlooking the skirmish.

Hermione, at Dumbledore's side, chimed it: "Try to get Fred closer!"  
George felt a tug at his arm and turned to see Ron staring at him apprehensively.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked quietly.

"…yes..."

"Then why aren't you doing it?"

It being the spell.

George couldn't answer a question that he himself didn't know the answer to, and eventually, he felt himself being led forward, catching only glimpses and snatches of faces, sneers, murmurs, light, shuffles, and the perpetual screams of his brother.

Suddenly, he was there. They had jerked Fred down to his knees, his body bound by a combination of physical force and magic. His left forearm was stretched out in front of him, the mark taught and angry looking. This was it?

_This?_

Fred looked up. His smiles were gone. Only a smear of self-assurance was left—but those wide eyes told it all: Fear. Panic. Panic. Fear.

And then it was just the two of them.

Breathing.

Fred's large red eyes, his mouth partly opened with unspoken words.

His quivering cheeks, his involuntary twitches.

Just them…

Finally, "George…?" croaked from his battered lips. Fred momentarily swooned, his head rolling before he could jerk his chin back up, blearily staring up into George's eyes. "…m--my…George?"

George looked down at this identical face and wondered:

_How? How did I get here?_

He raised his wand and closed his eyes.

Yesterday (could it have only been yesterday? Yes--yes _must_ have been…) in the evening, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley had led George into deserted study on the Headquarters' second floor. Hermione had shut the door quietly, beckoning for the boys to sit down as she did so. The room was small and too brightly lit for its purposes, but did host a small sofa and a chair. George took the chair and looked expectantly between them.

"Well?"

"Keep your voice down. Fred's room is not too far down the hall," Hermione whispered.

"Hermione, it's not like the Dark Mark gives you super powers," Ron argued in his normal volume.

She glared back at him, the space between them on the couch growing by the second. "Oh really, Ron? It's funny you should say that, considering all the madness that's taken place over the last few days. But I forgot--you're the local expert on Death Eaters, aren't you?

"Maybe I _should_ be—I have one as a brother, remember? Or maybe that's not good enough—maybe you have to be secretly snogging one--"

"Please….can you just tell me what you found?" interrupted George, his tone bordering on frustrated.

Hermione nodded and shut her eyes monetarily as if choosing the right words from her memory. "Yes, of course I can. It's actually pretty simple—see, Professor Dumbledore and I finished the counter-curse."

George blinked. "_Really_?"

"Yes, we did. But don't think it wasn't a nightmare, what with having to locate a good pair of Horned Skivvelback feet…but never mind. The point is that it's done and ready."

"What are we waiting for? How do we use it?" _I can't believe it…after all this, there's an actual answer._

"Er—that's where it gets a bit odd. As you know, the counter curse will eradicate any manipulation You-Know-Who is having over Fred, but it won't get rid of the Dark Mark."

"Yea, but if Fred is all mind-controlled right now," chimed Ron. "And if the counter-curse takes that away, then there's no way Fred is going to want to keep the mark. He'll be himself again."

"The Mark doesn't go away, Ron—look at Professor Snape. He's working_ against_ You-Know-who, and he still has his."

"Okay—but you know what I mean. We can go back to normal."

"Ron, there are countless "what ifs" in the balance right now, no one can say what--"

"Give it a rest," Ron interrupted. For the briefest second, George saw Ron's façade of confidence slip, and he got a glimpse of a tired, _tired_ little brother. For some reason, he found it to be encouraging rather then disappointing. _I'm not the only one…_

"Well, in any case," Hermione continued, casting a curious glance towards Ron, "Fred is going to have to deal with those issues on his own. The only thing we can do is get him to a point where his mind is clear, and let him make his own decisions."

_Don't worry…he'll come back, _George promised himself, rejuvenated by this latest bit of hope.

"So tell me about the spell," George replied, subconsciously lowering his voice.

"Not yet." Hermione replied. "There's something else you should know first."

Ron's mischievous smile returned. "Yea—this is the bloody greatest."

George just replied with an earnest look that overrode even Hermione's most cautious mental anxieties about speaking so openly about the matter.

"We know where your mum and sister are," she whispered. "The Order is retrieving them as we speak."

"_What_?" George's jay dropped. "How?"

"Snape told Dumbledore he could sense where You-Know-Who is," answered Ron before Hermione got the chance. "At first, I was like, 'that's sodding great, how come he hasn't used this trick before?' But Snape said that there are times when You-Know-Who _wants_ to be heard by his servants or whatever. He puts out a 'frequency' type thing that alerts them when he needs them, an' they can follow it home," Ron whispered, still not managing to be very quiet. "I know its true 'cause Fred's mark was burning the whole time you were out. He was trying to play it off, but I could tell."

"Snape knew exactly where to find You-Know-Who? The Order is going in now?" George repeated, a little stunned by these consecutive revelations.

"Ron, he didn't know the exact location," Hermione corrected with an eye roll. "He had a vague feeling. It was a big effort on the Order's part to find the specific, I dunno, address."

Ron laughed suddenly; it was an unfamiliar sound and caused them all to jump. "You have to realize we've been told next to nothin'. The Order is not exactly willing to hand out information to underage wizards."

"That's true," Hermione agreed, smiling weakly. "We only know what we do because I was working so close with Dumbledore on the counter-curse. Professor Snape eventually realized we were still in the room when they started planning and we got kicked out."

"But Snape is still here with us…?" George pondered out loud.

"Yea, like anyone would want Snape fighting on their side," snorted Ron. "That would be a rather pathetic sight, don't you think?"

"Yes it would be," Snape's chilly voice interrupted their intense conversation.

It wasn't until they all sat up with a start that George realized how far they had leaned over to murmur hurriedly at one another. It must have looked excruciatingly conspirative to Snape, who stared at them with disdain from the hallway.

"Mr.Weasley is absolutely correct," he drawled. "It's much more difficult to rush into a situation, wands unsheathed, then to keep a lunatic Death Eater confined and in the dark for three straight hours and counting," he sniffed. "My job is a complete joy."

Ron looked away, cheeks pink, but Hermione piped up: "That's right. What have you told Fred he's waiting around for?"

Snape paused, hesitating as if not sure what he wanted to share with the three blights. Eventually though, his eyes slit and he muttered, "Dumbledore arranged to have a Ministy member come over to negotiate The Dark Lord's commands….as a precaution in you will."

"Who is it?" asked George, a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Author Weasley," Snape answered, smirking a little at the nauseas expressions on the three young wizard's faces.

As predicted, Mr. Weasley's arrival and departure was as excruciating and drawn out as possible. It wasn't as if George didn't know _why_ Dumbledore had asked his father to come talk to Fred; he knew full in well that Fred had to believe that his demands were being met along schedule. The Order couldn't afford to rouse any suspicion in the Death Eater's mind. And even though it was rather crude using his own father to "negotiate" with his own son, George could even see the reason for that. Knowing his dad, George knew Mr.Weasley would be longing for some way to help.

George must have realized in his mind somewhere that the Order had contacted his father and explained the situation to him. Still, George had been too wrapped up in the situation to think about how his other family members had reacted to the news of kidnap. Dumbledore had mostly likely used Author in this situation to give the desperate man something to do while the others were out. It made sense, considering Mr.Weasley worked for the Ministry and everything… yes, this all made sense…but it didn't make it any easier.

Like when his father walked out of the room where Fred was residing, after doing the false negotiations for over an hour, pale in the face and clutching his papers as if to squeeze blood from them. His bottom lip was trembling and his brow was mopped in sweat. His eyes read nothing but despair, disappointment, longing, fear, horror…that didn't make it any easier.

George could imagine how his brother reacted to his father during the process, and it made him queasy. Mr.Weasley walked out of the room, a handful of names written in his loopy handwriting across the pages of his documents, and an expression of devastation on his face. George wanted more then anything to reach out and embrace his father, tell him "I know how you feel," and reassure him everything was going to be alight.

But his fingers had barely brushed his father's robes when Author turned to look at George, for the first time acknowledging his other son since he'd arrived. "Oh…" he breathed, a little unnerved to see such an opposite expression on such an identical body. And then the disappointment flooded back across his pale face—it was a look of disparagement that could not be hidden. George's hand fell to his side, and he could almost read his fathers thoughts. _Why didn't you take care of your brother? Your supposed to take care of your brother…your are supposed to know, you were supposed to watch…_

When Mr.Weasley remained silent, opting only to nod at his son, George stopped and let Snape take over the conversation. The twin eventually slipped away, shame burning on his face. It hurt when everything he was doubting in himself was confirmed by someone else he loved. He hadn't spoken to his father in a long while, and now the gap between him and the man he had once cared so dearly for felt like an ocean's width across. And he missed Fred_ so_ deeply…no, none of these things made the situation any easier.

"Now what were they going on about?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her face scrunched in confusion. She pushed the hair that had fallen out of her bun away from her eyes, leaving a smear of flour along her cheek. She looked at him questioningly, motioning to the fire from where Harry and George had just disappeared from as soon as Fred had entered the room.

Ginny had come around from behind him, holding his sleeve in her hand as she did so, a tender motion spurned from her concern. She looked up at him and he smiled reassuringly.

"They've gone…" she muttered. "Why do you think they've gone so quickly?"

"Fred, why does your brother think you're in trouble? What on earth was that about? What have you done now?" his mother hounded, unwilling to drop the subject.

Fred slipped out his wand, the kind smile still plastered on his face like a sticky charm.

The he hexed them both.

They fell; his mother's eyes registering fear right before she slumped to ground, narrowly missing the countertop. Ginny had gone even easier, collapsing easily, but not releasing his cloak until he pried her small fingers from its worn-out fabric.

Fred had smiled then, a real smile. He felt a glow inside his chest warm and flicker. His master was happy…and it had been so easy.

Next there was a dim room that smelt of burned anchovies, a wet fungus coloring the cobblestone floor black. There was a dim light. There was a snake. There was a short, fidgety man, stooping over two sleeping women and giggling quietly to himself. There was a hooded figure. _Master. _Fred smiled and reached out his arm, his fingers outstretched towards the Dark Lord, wanting so badly to touch, but still disciplined enough not to. But then the dreaded rodent-thing spoke up…_always talking…always stealing master's attention…little sick spore…_

"Master, the Weasley boy has done well--this _is_ his mother and sister. Now we can start negotiations, just as planned! There's no_ way_ Dumbledore wont give release your servants in Azkaban now."

"Yes…" replied Voldemort, his voice soft and high pitched from under his hood. "It is quite refreshing having a servant that can do what he's asked, isn't it Peter?"

Fred beamed at the Dark Lord, the warmth spreading across his chest at his mere mention. The rodent flushed, scrambling up from where he was crouched over, chaining the unconscious Mrs.Weasley's wrists together.

"Master—come on," he squeaked. "_I'm_ your most loyal servant—you're most trusted—aren't I? The only one that stayed by your side all this time? By my own free will, remember?" He motioned towards Fred meaninglyfully.

Fred laughed out loud, echoing the cold sound across the cave. Absurd. He knew that he was completely free—it didn't matter _what _the rat thought.

"That is true, Peter," Voldemort answered softly. "But there is something to be said for sacrifices." His long fingers gestured to the limp bodies and Fred standing beside them, the twin's eyes glinting red in the light. And then He drifted slowly to the red-head, placing those same slender fingers on the boy's narrow shoulders and staring into his eyes. Fred's smile turned childish and he swooned on his feet, leaning into the Dark Lord so that his face was brushing the fabric of His cloak. The frigid embrace, the scent of power, the promises of things to come…his master was pleased with him. Fred was so contented for that moment he could just die—just slip away at any moment and not regret it.

"I've made sacrifices too…" Peter Pettigrew murmured, looking jealously at the embrace and returning to the binding of the captives.

Fred's eyes were wide ad his breathing ragged. His wand was out, but he was sprawled on his back against the floor. The fungusy floor of a…a cave? He had just been taking a walk in the Ally late at night…_but why? Why now? Why me for Merlin's sake_?

A shadowed figure in log robes stood over him. The glow of its own wand was peering out from the shallow threads of its sleeves.

"Don't worry yourself," came a voice from the folds of the hood. It was soft and too high-pitched to belong to someone of its stature. "You've been chosen, Fred Weasley."

"Ch-chosen?" Fred felt the wand between his fingers quiver…if only he could remember a decent spell! _Don't tell me Hermione's been right all this time about not finishing Hogwarts! _But his mind was simply blank—it was taking every nerve he had to remain calm. Something heavy…something dark was radiating from this figure, and Fred had a nauseatingly clear vision of who had captured him.

"There's no need to shake like that, boy," the figure said, that high voice tilting upwards in…laughter? "Because I am the only one who know what you've been thinking.."

_No, that wasn't right either…_ "Er…I have a brother…" Fred muttered, nearly slapping himself in the head for saying something so stupid. _No kidding, Fred, you have five brothers, remember?_

"Yes, I know about that one," He answered, and long slender fingers reached out of the folds to brush back Fred's wild hair. The twin's eyes sparked in response. "The one that looks like you but doesn't think like you. I know it will be difficult to say goodbye to that one…but perhaps one day he can be chosen as well." Voldemort's wand reemerged. "But today is your day."

Fred looked up at the suddenly rising wand, suddenly scrambling to flee.

But then there was a light…and then screaming…echoes upon echoes of screaming.

George spasmed himself off the couch and landed with a thud on the wooden floor. Hermione was at his side in an instant, quickly asking questions about his physical and mental condition and worriedly checking him over. But George could only hear murmurs as she did so—his mind was still reeling from everything he had just seen…his vision was clouded and his mind confused. Suddenly, he grabbed the bushy-haired girl by the shoulders, stopping her assault mid-sentence.

"I'm seeing things," he told her. "I'm seeing very real things that I shouldn't be—they didn't happen to me but I'm still seeing them…and feeling them," he added, shuttering at the feeling of The Dark Lord—no, Voldemort's—embrace. He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop. "I've been seeing all these things that have happened to Fred…its all out of order and broken up, but its clear as day."

He felt a cup be pressed to his lips, and as the cool water poured down his ragged throat, George realized it had been his first drop of anything in…well, a while.

"I know," Hermione answered, and she sat back. "You've been yelling in your sleep for a while now."

"I passed out? _Again?"_ he asked.

She nodded. "Right after your dad left. But it's to be expected, because of the spell."

"Spell?" he asked, realizing for the first time that they were alone together in the Order's study.

"Ron and Professor Snape went to detain Fred," she answered before he could ask. "He's on to us now—his mark has been burning and he's been screaming all sorts of things. I hope that's to mean the Order is succeeding wherever they are…Anyway, Fred's been throwing quite a fit—it's taken everyone that's left in Headquarters to keep him from hurting others or himself… I just hope he's not in too much pain." Her brow furrowed. "We've kept him in the dark about our plan, but it's unlikely that You-Know-Who didn't see the ambush coming. I just can't wait for them to get back."

George nodded, the silence of their joint anticipation lasting for several seconds before George could remember his initial question.

"You said my visions were to be expected because of the spell? You mean the counter-curse, right?"

Hermione blinked. "Right. We never got a chance to explain before how the spell is connected to you."

George groaned.

"Don't be like that. It's not going to hurt you." she smiled. "The curse itself is about singling out memories, right? All of the thoughts that Fred had before his life as a Death Eater have been pushed aside to make way for the "evil" him. It's only without these memories that You-Know-Who can use him. So what we needed to do—what the counter-curse does, essentially—is to return Fred's non-Death Eater memories to him."

"What does that have to do with me?" George asked angrily, pushing himself off the floor.

"Well…the only thing that the spell can do is prep the subject—Fred—for er…the memory restoration. It has to be _triggered _by an incantation and a powerful memory. _That's_ where you come in."

George watched her nervously chew her lip as this last bit of news sank in.

"Wait—are you saying that _I'm _the one who has to perform the most crucial step in the _entire_ _spell_?" his voice was rising quickly now.

"It's not that difficult—the spell just needs reciting, and you need to think of a strong memory you two shared before all this. The spell will take care of the rest."

"Have someone else do it!" he yelled, avoiding her piercing gaze.

"What? _Why_? You actually trust someone else to come up with a memory powerful enough to jump-start the spell? Who else in the world knows Fred the way you do?" Hermione was very baffled—she had never factored George in as a liability to the plan, and his hesitance alarmed her. She didn't want to stress him out, but his action in the counter-curse was essential.

"Because what if I do it wrong? _What if I choose the wrong memory_?" George yelled. "I would rather lose him forever to the Dark Lord then to know I was the one who put him there!"

Hermione stared at him for a moment, taken aback. Finally, "There's no choice anymore, George. We made the spell factoring you in as the conduit. It's too late."

A door slammed downstairs and loud voices quickly flooded the Black family home from the ground up. Hermione's eyes snapped up to George's.

"They're back. It's time."

Dumbledore looked on with his mouth twisted into a curious expression. "So you _don't_ want to join the Order?"

"Why would we want to join the Order?" Fred asked, shifting in one of the Headmaster's office chairs. George looked at his twin sitting beside him and nodded, allowing his brother to speak.

"I'm quite sorry, then. I had only assumed that since your parents and your brothers had had joined, you two would be close to follow."

"We have no interest in it," Fred snapped. George covered for this brusque answer by quickly adding:

"We're opening up our own shop, Headmaster, and I don't think we'd be able to do both at the same time. Of course, it's not like we won't still be here to help if you need us..."

"But I'm sure we'll be very, _very_ busy," Fred quickly threw in, standing up and avoiding George's questioning look.

"Well then," Dumbledore stated, folding his bony fingers together, "The two of you are officially withdrawn from Hogwarts as of today. I thank you for your tenure and wish you the best of luck in your entrepreneurship."

"Thank you," Fred said, standing up and walking briskly out of the office. George smiled sympathetically at the Headmaster, who responded with a smile and a wink of his own.

Hermione tipped her neck back, smiling up at the red head. It had been a week since she had seen him last—he was out and about so often now that she barely had time to speak to him. It was good to have him back, no matter how short his stay would be.

She knew that something was wrong—she was by no means stupid, and all the signs pointed to trouble. But she also wasn't nosy. _I don't have any right to that information yet, _she told herself. If she was right, and if it was indeed a problem, then she felt reassured in knowing all problems could be solved given a little time and some scratch paper. Right now she was just glad he was being his friendly self again, holding her tightly behind the register. He blew against her ear and she smiled, stretching up on her toes, reaching out her arms…

"George! _Hey_—are you with me?" Hermione's real face was harshly clear when George snapped open his eyes. He was standing on the stairwell with her, overlooking the several Order members that were walking beneath them. He had just had another bout of Fred's memories, each tasting sourer then the last.

"Why am I seeing things from Fred's memories?" he asked, swallowing.

"I'm not sure," she answered truthfully. "Maybe because I activated the first part of the spell when you were knocked out before? That's got to mean there's a connection between you two now."

"Oh…you finished your part of the spell? So all that's left is my part? The incantation bit?"

"Mmm hmm…" she muttered absently, suddenly tugging on his sleeve and leading him downstairs. "It's time to finish this."

"Yea…"he muttered, trying to absorb the smallest amount of her confidence.

He raised his wand and closed his eyes. Fred had thrashed himself to pieces; infuriated at being tricked, horrified at disappointing his master, furious and hateful to anyone who had laid a hand on him. But now he was on his knees, restrained and limp against the force of so many.

And now it was George's turn to have everyone watch him_. I have to solve this? Me, the one who would join Fred rather then fight him? I was already halfway there in my mind! There is no way I can…_

But that was no way for a Weasley twin to think. _No way at all. _Fred wouldn't like that train of thought one bit. They had a reputation to maintain.

Fred stared up at him blankly, and suddenly all George wanted…_needed_ was to be alone with his brother; to take care of him, to protect him from _everything_, to make him smile again…and then Hermione handed George a piece of parchment and he knew what he had to do.

He cleared his throat and began to read the incantation. He stumbled over his words and mumbled a good deal of the time, but still the words got out:

_Athelcius Levious Kervadius_

_Give back what you have taken_

_Levinous Ulcius Remembrus_

_It is his and not yours._

_He is not one of those_

_Endless waves who will forever wash up their shame_

_Ilnon Yesious Valkadiousis_

_He is not a wandering star_

_Who for the darkest blackness is reserved forever._

_Kervadius, Valkadiousis, Remembrus_

_It is his and not yours. _

George's wand tip lit up in fushia blaze before igniting completely and hurtling itself into Fred's chest. The Order members holding onto the Death Eater were practically blown over in its wake, but it didn't matter much anymore. Fred wasn't going anywhere—he was struck numb, the ball of light spinning into his chest slowly, blowing his hair back gently and casting purple shadows along his cheek bones.

_"Fred!"_ George cried, falling onto his knees as well. He reached out to the light, but pulled back when Fred looked up. For the first time in countless days, George felt that this was Fred—the real, _whole_ Fred meeting eyes with his twin.. It was enough clarity to bring tears to George's eyes.

"Mr.Weasley!" Dumbledore interrupted.

_Right…the memory. _

George shuffled closer to Fred, getting as close as he could get before feeling the orb of light pulsating them apart.

"Um, Fred…" he began. Hermione nodded encouragingly. It felt extremely silly with all these people standing around, watching. But still, it had to be done.

"Fred, remember the first time I walked in on you and Angelina kissing in the library at school? Er--this was a while back mind you, because it was the first time either of us had done that…" _Crikey, this is embarrassing_. "Um…and for some reason I got really mad at you, and wouldn't talk to you for two whole days. Do you remember that? My punishment was more awful for me then you, I think," he chuckled. "Finally when you asked me about it, I told you I was jealous…of _her_."

The red-head avoided everyone's eyes now, opting to bore a hole into the floor with his own. He hadn't had any time to practice for this. "God, I know how bizarre that sounded to you. The flicker in your eye had told me I had said something _horribly_ loony. But I _had _been jealous—you were the closest friend anyone could ever have from the moment I was_ born _into existence, and now someone else—practically some stranger in comparison--was getting to share something with you I never had…"

George laughed. "And it's not like I wanted to do_ that_ particularly. It wasn't like that—it was just the idea of the thing that infuriated me. How dare she share something with you and leave me out? How dare you toss me aside so quickly for time with someone else?"

George's fingers clenched. This was getting too painful. "But I had been wrong, and both of us knew it. I was so scared that you wouldn't talk to me again…but then you did. You laughed out loud. I remember that because it shocked me so much. I didn't understand how you could take the situation so lightly. And you told me…you said that it wouldn't always be just the two of us. You said that you and I would both get girlfriends sooner or later, and eventually we'd even start families or something horribly bizarre like that. You said, our lives would come and go…and then you said "but you never have to worry, because you'll never get rid of me. I need you more then you need me, you daft cow." You had never said anything like that before…and it made me feel so _good_…And I like to think that it was your way of promising that while other things change, our friendship never would…and it never has…and it meant so much…"

George looked up to Fred's wide eyes. Then he looked around him at the sea of faces. "There…?" he murmured, feeling the blush that started at his ears start spread down his neck. "I don't know if th-that's your best memory Fred, but it's definitely mine."

Suddenly the ball of light broke and George lost his balance, falling forward into his brother. The light had entered into the Death Eater, and now he glowed faintly of the same color all over. George clung tight until the last of the light shimmered completely from Fred's body. He didn't know how long he stayed, clutching so desperately like that, and he didn't know what was said while he did. Hell—he didn't even know what had to be done that night to get Fred back to him, and he certainly didn't know f what he had said was enough…so he held on for dear life. And it was his life that was in the balance. He was holding onto everything he had left, and could only hope to God it would last just one moment longer.

Finally, Fred shifted his shoulders, and George pulled back, afraid and trembling. But when Fred stood up, George _knew_ the curse had been lifted. Fred, essentially, had all his pieces back in place. It was suddenly clear. George could _feel _the clouds lift the way you do after a crisis has passed you by…inexplicable relief. But Fred wasn't smiling. He looked around at them all…at Dumbledore, Hermione, Tonks, Mad Eye, Ron, Harry…and he was drained. Fred slowly shrugged off the blood-colored garment that had been his attire these past few days, and let it slip to the floor. He focused back on his twin, and slowly outstretched his arm towards him…that is, until he saw the Dark Mark curled on his forearm. At its sight, Fred jerked it back, yanked down his sleeve, and mumbled to anyone and everyone:

"_I'm so sorry_." The whisper was drenched in shame.

Turning on his heel, he mumbled something about going back home, and he walked out.

And even as George watched him go, even as the guilt that now plagued his brother saddened George to the core, even as he realized the time it would take to restore the laughter that had once sprung so readily from Fred, even though the connection between them might never be as strong as it once had been, George _knew_ that his brother would_ indeed_ be going home. And George knew he would follow him home to their apartment over the Wheeze—he knew he would sit beside his twin on the bed in silence, ready to hear whatever needed to be said…

It might never be the same.

But Fred was back.

And that would be enough.

**THE END**

_Heya gang...I'm sure that after seeing the length of the mofo, you realized why it took so long to get out. Nonetheless, I'm sorry about the wait. So…whaahahahahahaha…you didn't know this chappy would be the ending, did you? I decided that I needed to wrap this up since I hit Double Digits (oh yeaaa…pun intended). I hope the random flashbacks didn't confuse you too much. I started each of them with a "' in the hopes you'd pick up what they were. I can't believe I finished this fic…holy shit. As a result of the long hours, I've got a heck of a lot of weird notebook pages and a newly acquired, very unhealthy attraction to the Phelps brothers. I think they're great as the twins, and they look exactly how I imagine…and I imagine quite a lot…cough. Anyways, as you can assume, Fred is going to be okay. I thought about killing him off briefly, but that's waay to dramatic, and besides, if he was dead then I couldn't torment with months of torment and angst following the realization of the shit he's done. So, George takes on a new role—the role of the "lead" twin. Now its turn to take care of Fred, and I like to think he does a great job of it. Eventually things pretty much go back to normal…including Hermione/Fred. (By the way, yes—the Order did rescue the Weasley girls that night. It was a huge brawl with crazy ass fight scenes—but I wanted this to focus on George and Fred. Did you notice Harry was there in the last scene? He helped in the rescue mission. The going-back-to-the-Dursleys-thing was a fake out on the Order's part. Actually, no one was killed—though I wished Ron got knocked off at some point. I LOATHE HIM, even though I'm on the red-headed team myself. Go team. Oh, and THANK YOU—yes, you! If I had more time I'd thank you all personally, but nonetheless, you have been a have been a huge inspiration to me and I adore you for every review so terribly much! Please tell me how you liked the ending, and I can answer any questions. YOU ROCK, DAMMIT! So here's to no more cliff hangers, and go Slytherin. Good night._


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